mj^m^m  A  Liftle  Book 
op  V/e stern  Verse  si^^^^^^^xc) 


UC-NRLF 


777 


fl  kittle  Book 

OF 

WESTERN    VERSE 


BY  EUGENE  FIELD. 


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PROFITABLE  TALES. 

ILittie  Booft  of 

WESTERN  VERSE. 


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tittle  'Boofi 


OF 


WESTERN    VERSE 


BY 


EUGENE     FIELD 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1894 


Copyright,  1889 
BY  EUGENE  FIELD 


a 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 

MARY    FIELD    FRENCH. 

A  dying  mother  gave  to  you 
Her  child  a  many  years  ago  ; 

How  in  your  gracious  love  he  grew, 
You  know,  dear,  patient  heart,  you  k\ 


'.now. 


The  mother's  child  you  fostered  then 
Salutes  you  now  and  bids  you  take 

These  little  children  of  his  fen 
And  love  them  for  the  author's  sake. 

To  you  I  dedicate  this  look, 
And,  as  you  read  it  line  by  line, 

Upon  its  faults  as  kindly  look 
As  you  have  always  looked  on  mine. 

Tardy  the  offering  is  and  weak  ;  — 

Yet  were  I  happy  if  I  knew 
These  children  had  the  power  to  speak 

My  love  and  gratitude  to  you. 

E.  F. 


M20501 


Go,  little  book  ;  and  if  an  one  would  speak  thee  ill,  let  him 

bethink  him  that  thou  art  the  child  of 

one  who  loves  thee  well. 


t\)t  Contents?  of  tty$  tlittle  115oofe, 


PAGE 

CASEY'S  TABLE  D'HOTE » 

OUR  LADY  OF  THE  MINE 69 

THE  CONVERSAZZHYONY I5I 

PROP.  VERB  DE  BLAW       l61 

MARTHY'S  YOUNKIT *73 

OLD  ENGLISH  LULLABY 16 

"  LOLLYBY,  LOLLY,  LOLLYBY  '» 27 

ORKNEY  LULLABY 34 

LULLABY  :  BY  THE  SEA 79 

CORNISH  LULLABY 87 

NORSE  LULLABY 92 

SICILIAN  LULLABY 104 

JAPANESE  LULLABY * "3 

LITTLE  CROODLIN-DOO i25 

DUTCH  LULLABY I2§ 

CHILD  AND  MOTHER J49 

MEDIAEVAL  EVENTIDE  SONG 171 

CHRISTMAS  TREASURES 62 

CHRISTMAS  HYMN IJI 

CHRYSTMASSE  OF  OLDE 120 


X  CONTENTS  OF  THIS  LITTLE  BOOK. 

PAGB 

OUR  Two  OPINIONS 31 

APPLE-PIE  AND  CHEESE 42 

"  GOOD-BY —  GOD  BLESS  YOU  1  " 115 

HI-SPY 124 

LONG  AGO 195 


LITTLE  BOY  BLUE 8 

THE  LYTTEL  BOY 20 

KRINKEN 46 

To  A  USURPER „ 77 

AILSIE,  MY  BAIRN 85 

SOME  TIME 201 

MADGE  :  YE  HOYDEN 10 

DEATH  OF  ROBIN  HOOD 24 

To  ROBIN  GOODFELLOW 40 

YVYTOT 189 

THE  DIVINE  LULLABY 57 

IN  THE  FIRELIGHT 59 

THE  TWENTY-THIRD  PSALM 106 

AT  THE  DOOR 122 

THE  BIBLIOMANIAC'S  PRAYER 18 

DE  AMICITIIS 65 

THE  BIBLIOMANIAC'S  BRIDE .    .    .  108 

THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  HORACE 22 

LYDIA  AND  HORACE  RECONCILED 29 

HORACE  III.  13  ("FOUNTAIN  OF  BANDUSIA")  .    .  55 


CONTENTS  OF  THIS  LITTLE  BOOK.  Xl 

PAGE 

HORACE  TO  MELPOMENE 83 

CHAUCERIAN  PARAPHRASE  OF  HORACE 91 

HORACE  TO  PYRRHA 105 

HORACE  TO  PHYLLIS 118 

THE  "HAPPY  ISLES"  OF  HORACE 126 

LITTLE  MACK 36 

MR.  DANA,  OF  THE  NEW  YORK  SUN 96 

TO  A  SOUBRETTE 198 

BERANGER'S  "BROKEN  FIDDLE" 49 

HEINE'S  "WIDOW,  OR  DAUGHTER?" 61 

UHLAND'S  "THREE  CAVALIERS" 89 

BERANGER'S  "MY  LAST  SONG,  PERHAPS"       ...  94 

HUGO'S  "FLOWER  TO  BUTTERFLY" 131 

BERANGER'S  "  MA  VOCATION  "       147 

THE  LITTLE  PEACH 53 

A  PROPER  TREWE  IDYLL  OF  CAMELOT 133 

IN  FLANDERS ,    ,    .     .    .  179 

OUR  BIGGEST  FISH 182 

MOTHER  AND  CHILD ,    .    .  33 

THE  WANDERER 75 

SOLDIER,  MAIDEN,  AND  FLOWER 81 

THIRTY-NINE 186 


ILt'ttle  33oofc  of  OHesteru  Ferse. 


CASEY'S   TABLE   D'HOTE. 


/^vH,  them  days  on  Red    Hoss   Mountain,  when 

the  skies  wuz  fair  'nd  blue, 
When  the  money  flowed  like  likker,  'nd  the  folks 

wuz  brave  'nd  true ! 
When  the  nights  wuz  crisp  'nd  balmy,  'nd  the  camp 

wuz  all  astir, 
With  the  joints  all  throwed  wide  open  'nd  no  sheriff 

to  demur  ! 
Oh,  them  times  on  Red  Hoss  Mountain   in   the 

Rockies  fur  away,  — 
There  's  no  sich  place  nor  times  like  them  as  I  kin 

find  to-day ! 
What  though  the  camp  hez  busted  ?     I  seem  to  see 

it  still 
A-lyin',  like  it  loved  it,  on  that  big  'nd  warty  hill; 


CASEY'S   TABLE  D'HOTE. 


And  I  feel  a  sort  of  yearnin'  'nd  a  chokin'  in  my 

throat 
When  I  think  of  Red  Hoss  Mountain  'nd  of  Casey's 

tabble  dote  ! 

Wul,  yes ;  it  Ts  true;  I  struck  it  rich,  but  that  don't 
,  e«<«  cut  a  show        «*«"- 
When  one  is  old  'ad  feeble  'nd  it 's  nigh  his  time 

to  go; 
The  money  that  he  's  got  in  bonds  or  carries  to 

invest 
Don't  figger  with  a  codger  who  has  lived  a  life 

out  West; 
Us  old  chaps  like  to  set  around,  away  from  folks 

'nd  noise, 
'Nd  think  about  the  sights  we  seen  and  things  we 

done  when  boys ; 
The  which  is  why  /  love  to  set  'nd  think  of  them 

old  days 
When  all  us   Western  fellers    £ot  the    Colorado 

craze,  — 
And  that  is  why  I  love  to  set  around  all  day  'nd 

gloat 
On  thoughts  of  Red  Hoss  Mountain  'nd  of  Casey's 

tabble  dote. 


CASEY'S    TABLE  D'HOTE. 


This  Casey  wuz  an  Irishman,  —  you  'd  know  it  by 

his  name 
And  by  the   facial    features    appertainin'   to  the 

same. 
He  'd  lived  in  many  places  'nd  had  done  a  thousand 

things, 
From  the  noble  art  of  actin'  to  the  work  of  dealin' 

kings, 
But,  somehow,  had  n't  caught  on ;  so,  driftin'  with 

the  rest, 

He  drifted  for  a  fortune  to  the  undeveloped  West, 
And  he  come  to  Red  Hoss  Mountain  when  the 

little  camp  wuz  new, 
When  the  money  flowed  like  likker,  'nd  the  folks 

wuz  brave  'nd  true  ; 

And,  havin'  been  a  Stewart  on  a  Mississippi  boat, 
He  opened  up  a  caffy  'nd  he  run  a  tabble  dote. 

The  bar  wuz  long  'nd  rangey,  with  a  mirrer  on  the 

shelf, 
'Nd  a  pistol,  so  that  Casey,  when  required,  could 

help  himself ; 
Down  underneath  there  wuz  a  row  of  bottled  beer 

'nd  wine, 
'Nd  a  kag  of  Burbun  whiskey  of  the  run  of  '59 ; 


CASEY'S   TABLE   D'HOTE. 


Upon    the  walls   wuz    pictures  of   bosses   'nd    of 

girls, — 
Not  much  on  dress,  perhaps,  but  strong  on  records 

'nd  on  curls  ! 
The  which  had  been  identified  with  Casey  in  the 

past,  — 
The  hosses  'nd  the  girls,  I  mean,  —  and  both  wuz 

mighty  fast ! 
But  all  these  fine  attractions  wuz  of  precious  little 

note 
By  the  side  of  what  wuz  offered  at  Casey's  tabble 

dote. 

There  wuz  half-a-dozen  tables  altogether  in  the 

place, 
And  the  tax  you  had  to  pay  upon  your  vittles  wuz  a 

case; 
The  boardin'-houses  in  the  camp  protested  't  wuz  a 

shame 
To  patronize  a  robber,  which  this  Casey  wuz  the 

same ! 
They  said  a   case  was    robbery  to  tax    for  ary 

meal; 
But  Casey  tended  strictly  to  his  biz,  'nd  let  'em 

squeal ; 


CASEY'S    TABLE   D'HOTE. 


And  presently  the  boardin'-houses  all  began  to  bust, 
While  Casey  kept  on  sawin'  wood  'nd  layin'  in  the 

dust; 

And  oncet  a  trav'lin'  editor  from  Denver  City  wrote 
A  piece  back  to  his  paper,  puffin'  Casey's  tabble 

dote. 

A  tabble  dote  is  different  from  orderin'  aller  cart : 
In  one  case  you  git  all  there  is,  in  Pother,  only  part! 
And  Casey's  tabble  dote  began  in  French,  —  as  all 

begin,  — 
And  Casey's  ended  with  the  same,  which  is  to  say, 

with  "  vin  ;  " 
But  in  between  wuz  every  kind  of  reptile,  bird,  'nd 

beast, 
The  same  like  you  can  git  in  high-toned  restauraws 

down  east ; 
'Nd  windin'  up  wuz  cake  or  pie,  with  coffee  demy 

tass, 
Or,  sometimes,  floatin'  Ireland  in  a  soothin'  kind  of 

sass 
That  left  a  sort  of  pleasant  ticklin'  in  a  feller's 

throat, 
'Nd  made  him  hanker  after  more  of  Casey's  tabble 

dote. 


CASEY'S   TABLE  D'HOTE. 


The  very  recollection  of  them  puddin's  'nd  them 

pies 
Brings  a  yearnin'  to  my  buzzum  'nd  the  water  to 

my  eyes ; 
'Nd  seems  like  cookin'  nowadays  aint  what  it  used 

to  be 
In  camp  on  Red  Hoss  Mountain  in  that  year  of 

'63; 
But,    maybe,    it    is    better,    'nd,    maybe,    I  'm    to 

blame  — 
I  'd  like  to  be  a-livin'  in  the  mountains   jest  the 

same  — 
I  'd  like  to  live  that  life  again  when  skies  wuz  fair 

'nd  blue, 
When  things  wuz  run  wide  open  'nd  men  wuz  brave 

'nd  true ; 
When  brawny  arms  the  flinty  ribs  of   Red    Hoss 

Mountain  smote 
For  wherewithal  to  pay  the  price  of  Casey's  tabble 

dote. 

And  you,  O  cherished  brother,  a-sleepin'  way  out 

west, 
With  Red  Hoss  Mountain  huggin'  you  close  to  its 

lovin'  breast,  — 


CASEY'S   TABLE  D'HOTE. 


Oh,  do  you  dream  in  your  last  sleep  of  how  we  use 

to  do, 
Of  how  we  worked  our  little  claims  together,  me  'nd 

you? 
Why,  when  I  saw  you  last  a  smile  wuz  restin'  on 

your  face, 
Like  you  wuz  glad  to  sleep  forever  in  that  lonely 

place ; 
A.nd  so  you  wuz,  'nd  I  'd  be,  too,  if  I  wuz  sleepin' 

so. 
But,  bein'  how  a  brother's  love  aint  for  the  world 

to  know, 
Whenever  I  Ve  this  heartache  'nd  this  chokin'  in 

my  throat, 
\  lay  it  all  to  thinkin'  of  Casey's  tabble  dote. 


LITTLE   BOY  BLUE, 


LITTLE   BOY   BLUE. 

'IP HE  little  toy  dog  is  covered  with  dust, 

But  sturdy  and  stanch  he  stands ; 
And  the  little  toy  soldier  is  red  with  rust, 

And  his  musket  moulds  in  his  hands. 
Time  was  when  the^ittle  toy  dog  was  new        / 

And  the  soldier  was  passing  fair, 
And  that  was  the  time  when  our  Little  Boy  Blue 

Kissed  them  and  put  them  there. 

"  Now,  don't  you  go  till  I  come,"  he  said, 

"  And  don't  you  make  any  noise  !  " 
So  toddling  off  to  his  trundle-bed 

He  dreamt  of  the  pretty  toys. 
And  as  he  was  dreaming,  an  angel  song 

Awakened  our  Little  Boy  Blue,  —       •*— 
Oh,  the  years  are  many,  the  years  are  long, 

But  the  little  toy  friends  are  true. 


LITTLE  BOY  BLUE 


- 


Ay,  faithful  to  Little  Boy  Blue  they  stand, 

Each  in  the  same  old  place, 
Awaiting  the  touch  of  a  little  hand, 

The  smile  of  a  little  face. 

And   they   wonder,   as   waiting   these   long  years 
through, 

In  the  dust  of  that  little  chair, 
What  has  become  of  our  Little  Boy  Blue 

Since  he  kissed  them  and  put  them  there. 


10  MADGE:    YE  HOYDEN. 


MADGE:  YE   HOYDEN. 


A  T  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  gossips  scoff t, 

Ffor  that  a  romping  wench  was  shee- 
"  Now  marke  this  rede,"  they  bade  her  oft, 

"  Forsooken  sholde  your  folly  bee  !  " 
But  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  laught  &  cried, 

"  Oho,  oho,"  in  girlish  glee, 
And  noe  thing  mo  replied. 

n. 
No  griffe  she  had  nor  knew  no  care, 

But  gayly  rompit  all  daies  long, 
And,  like  ye  brooke  that  everywhere 

Goes  jinking  with  a  gladsome  song, 
Shee  danct  and  songe  from  morn  till  night. 

Her  gentil  harte  did  know  no  wrong, 
Nor  did  she  none  despight. 


MADGE:    YE  HOYDEN.  II 

III. 

Sir  Tomas  from  his  noblesse  halle 
Did  trend  his  path  a  somer's  daye, 

And  to  ye  hoyden  he  did  call 

And  these  ff ull  evill  words  did  say : 

"  O  wolde  you  weare  a  silken  gown 

And  binde  your  haire  with  ribands  gay  ? 

Then  come  with  me  to  town  !  " 

IV. 

But  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  shoke  her  head,  — 

"  I  'le  be  no  lemman  unto  thee 
For  all  your  golde  and  gownes,"  shee  said, 

"  ffor  Robin  hath  bespoken  mee." 
Then  ben  Sir  Tomas  sore  despight, 

And  back  unto  his  hall  went  hee 
With  face  as  ashen  white. 

v. 
"  O  Robin,  wilt  thou  wed  this  girl, 

Whenas  she  is  so  vaine  a  sprite  ?  " 
So  spak  ffull  many  an  envious  churle 

Unto  that  curteyse  countrie  wight. 
But  Robin  did  not  pay  no  heede; 

And  they  ben  wed  a  somer  night 
&  danct  upon  ye  meade. 


12  MADGE:    YE  HOYDEN. 

VI. 

Then  scarse  ben  past  a  yeare  &  daye 
Whan  Robin  toke  unto  his  bed, 

And  long,  long  time  therein  he  lay, 
Nor  colde  not  work  to  earn  his  bread  ; 

in  soche  an  houre,  whan  times  ben  sore, 
Sr.  Tomas  came  with  haughtie  tread 

£  knockit  at  ye  doore. 

VII. 

Saies  :  "  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  do  you  know 
how  that  you  once  despighted  me  ? 

But  He  forgiff  an  you  will  go 
my  swete  harte  lady  ffor  to  bee  !  " 

But  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  heard  noe  more,  — 
straightway  upon  her  heele  turnt  shee, 

&  shote  ye  cottage  doore. 

VIII. 

Soe  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  did  her  parte 
whiles  that  ye  years  did  come  and  go ; 

't  was  somer  allwais  in  her  harte, 

tho'  winter  strewed  her  head  with  snowe. 

She  toilt  and  span  thro'  all  those  years 
nor  bid  repine  that  it  ben  soe, 

nor  never  shad  noe  teares. 


MADGE:    YE  HO  YD  EX.  13 

IX. 

Whiles  Robin  lay  within  his  bed, 

A  divell  came  and  whispered  lowe,  — 

"  Giff  you  will  doe  my  will,"  he  said, 

"  None  more  of  sickness  you  shall  knowe!  " 

Ye  which  gave  joy  to  Robin's  soul  — 
Saies  Robin  :  "  Divell,  be  it  soe, 

an  that  you  make  me  whoale  ! " 

x. 

That  day,  upp  rising  ffrom  his  bed, 
Quoth  Robin  :  "  I  am  well  again !  " 

&  backe  he  came  as  from  ye  dead, 
&  he  ben  mickle  blithe  as  when 

he  wooed  his  doxy  long  ago ; 
&  Madge  did  make  ado  &  then 

Her  teares  ffor  joy  did  flowe. 

XI. 

Then  came  that  hell-born  cloven  thing  — 
Saies :  "  Robin,  I  do  claim  your  life, 

and  I  hencefoorth  shall  be  your  king, 
and  you  shall  do  my  evill  strife. 

Look  round  about  and  you  shall  see 
sr.  Tomas'  young  and  ffoolish  wiffe  — 

a  comely  dame  is  shee  !  " 


14  MADGE:    YE  HOYDEN. 

XII. 

Ye  divell  had  him  in  his  power, 
and  not  colde  Robin  say  thereto : 

Soe  Robin  from  that  very  houre 
did  what  that  divell  bade  him  do ; 

He  wooed  and  dipt,  and  on  a  daye 
sr.  Tomas'  wife  and  Robin  flewe 

a  many  leagues  away. 

XIII. 

Sir  Tomas  ben  wood  wroth  and  swore, 
And  sometime  strode  thro'  leaf  &  brake 

and  knockit  at  ye  cottage  door 

and  thus  to  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  spake : 

Saies,  "  I  wolde  have  you  ffor  mine  own, 
So  come  with  mee  &  bee  my  make, 

syn  tother  birds  ben  flown." 

XIV. 

But  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  bade  him  noe ; 

Saies  :  "  Robin  is  my  swete  harte  still, 
And,  tho'  he  doth  despight  me  soe, 

I  mean  to  do  him  good  for  ill. 
So  goe,  Sir  Tomas,  goe  your  way ; 

ffor  whiles  I  bee  on  live  I  will 
ffor  Robin's  coming  pray  !  " 


MADGE:    YE  HOYDEX. 


Soe  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  kneelt  &  prayed 
that  Goddc  sholde  send  her  Robin  backe. 

And  tho'  ye  folke  vast  scoffing  made, 
and  tho'  ye  worlde  ben  colde  and  blacke, 

And  tho',  as  moneths  dragged  away, 
ye  hoyden's  harte  ben  like  to  crack 

With  griff,  she  still  did  praye. 

XVI. 

Sicke  of  that  divell's  damned  charmes, 

Aback  did  Robin  come  at  last, 
And  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  sprad  her  arms 

and  gave  a  cry  and  held  him  fast ; 
And  as  she  clong  to  him  and  cried, 

her  patient  harte  with  joy  did  brast, 
&  Madge,  ye  hoyden,  died. 


1 6  OLD  ENGLISH  LULLABY. 


OLD   ENGLISH   LULLABY. 

TUT  USH,  bonnie,  dinna  greit ; 

Moder  will  rocke  her  sweete,  • 

Balow,  my  boy ! 
When  that  his  toile  ben  done, 
Daddie  will  come  anone,  — 
Hush  thee,  my  lyttel  one ; 

Balow,  my  boy ! 

Gin  thou  dost  sleepe,  perchaunce 
Fayries  will  come  to  daunce,  — 

Balow,  my  boy ! 
Oft  hath  thy  moder  scene 
Moonlight  and  mirkland  queene 
Daunce  on  thy  slumbering  een,  — 

Balow,  my  boy  ! 

Then  droned  a  bomblebee 
Saftly  this  songe  to  thee  : 
"  Balow,  my  boy  !  " 


OLD  ENGLISH  LULLABY. 


And  a  wee  heather  bell, 
Pluckt  from  a  fayry  dell, 
Chimed  thee  this  rune  hersell 
"  Balow,  my  boy  !  " 

Soe,  bonnie,  dinna  greit  ; 
Moder  doth  rock  her  sweete, 

Balow,  my  boy  ! 
Give  mee  thy  lyttel  hand, 
Moder  will  hold  it  and 
Lead  thee  to  balow  land,  — 

Balow,  my  boy  ! 


1 8  THE   BIBLIOMANIAC'S  PRAYER. 


THE   BIBLIOMANIAC'S    PRAYER. 


me,  I  pray,  in  wisdom's  way 
That  I  may  truths  eternal  seek  ; 
I  need  protecting  care  to-day,  — 

My  purse  is  light,  my  flesh  is  weak. 
So  banish  from  my  erring  heart 

All  baleful  appetites  and  hints 
Of  Satan's  fascinating  art, 

Of  first  editions,  and  of  prints. 
Direct  me  in  some  godly  walk 

Which  leads  away  from  bookish  strife, 
That  I  with  pious  deed  and  talk 

May  extra-illustrate  my  life. 

But  if,  O  Lord,  it  pleaseth  Thee 
To  keep  me  in  temptation's  way, 

I  humbly  ask  that  I  may  be 
Most  notably  beset  to-day  ; 

Let  my  temptation  be  a  book, 
Which  I  shall  purchase,  hold,  and  keep, 


THE  BIBLIOMANIAC'S  PRAYER.  19 

Whereon  when  other  men  shall  look, 
They  '11  wail  to  know  I  got  it  cheap. 

Oh,  let  it  such  a  volume  be 

As  in  rare  copperplates  abounds, 

Large  paper,  clean,  and  fair  to  see, 
Uncut,  unique,  unknown  to  Lowndes. 


2O  THE  LYTTEL  BOY. 


THE   LYTTEL   BOY. 

O  OMETIME  there  ben  a  lyttel  boy 

That  wolde  not  renne  and  play, 
And  helpless  like  that  little  tyke 

Ben  allwais  in  the  way. 
"  Goe,  make  you  merrie  with  the  rest," 

His  weary  moder  cried  ; 
But  with  a  frown  he  catch t  her  gown 
And  hong  untill  her  side. 

That  boy  did  love  his  moder  well, 

Which  spake  him  faire,  I  ween ; 
He  loved  to  stand  and  hold  her  hand 

And  ken  her  with  his  een  ; 
His  cosset  bleated  in  the  croft, 

His  toys  unheeded  lay,  — 
He  wolde  not  goe,  but,  tarrying  soe, 

Ben  allwais  in  the  way. 


THE  LYTTEL   BOY.  21 

Godde  loveth  children  and  doth  gird 

His  throne  with  soche  as  these, 
And  He  doth  smile  in  plaisaunce  while 

They  cluster  at  His  knees  ; 
And  sometime,  when  He  looked  on  earth 

And  watched  the  bairns  at  play, 
He  kenned  with  joy  a  lyttel  boy 

Ben  allwais  in  the  way. 

And  then  a  moder  felt  her  heart 

How  that  it  ben  to-torne,  — 
She  kissed  eche  day  till  she  ben  gray 

The  shoon  he  use  to  worn  ; 
No  bairn  let  hold  untill  her  gown 

Nor  played  upon  the  floore,  — 
Godde's  was  the  joy  ;  a  lyttel  boy 

Ben  in  the  way  no  more  ! 


22  THE   TRUTH  ABOUT  HORACE. 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  HORACE. 

TT  is  very  aggravating 

To  hear  the  solemn  prating 
Of  the  fossils  who  are  stating 

That  old  Horace  was  a  prude ; 
When  we  know  that  with  the  ladies 
He  was  always  raising  Hades, 
And  with  many  an  escapade  his 
Best  productions  are  imbued. 

There  's  really  not  much  harm  in  a 
Large  number  of  his  carmina, 
But  these  people  find  alarm  in  a 

Few  records  of  his  acts ; 
So  they  'd  squelch  the  muse  caloric, 
And  to  students  sophomoric 
They  'd  present  as  metaphoric 

What  old  Horace  meant  for  facts. 


THE    TRUTH  ABOUT  HORACE.  23 

We  have  always  thought  'em  lazy ; 
Now  we  adjudge  'em  crazy  ! 
Why,  Horace  was  a  daisy 

That  was  very  much  alive  ! 
And  the  wisest  of  us  know  him 
As  his  Lydia  verses  show  him,  — 
Go,  read  that  virile  poem,  — 

It  is  No.  25. 

He  was  a  very  owl,  sir, 

And  starting  out  to  prowl,  sir, 

You  bet  he  made  Rome  howl,  sir, 

Until  he  filled  his  date ; 
With  a  massic-laden  ditty 
And  a  classic  maiden  pretty 
He  painted  up  the  city, 

And  Maecenas  paid  the  freight ! 


24       THE  DEATH  OF  ROBIN  HOOD. 


THE   DEATH   OF   ROBIN    HOOD. 

r*  IVE  me  my  bow,"  said  Robin  Hood, 

"  An  arrow  give  to  me  ; 
And  where  't  is  shot  mark  thou  that  spot, 
For  there  my  grave  shall  be." 

Then  Little  John  did  make  no  sign, 

And  not  a  word  he  spake ; 
But  he  smiled,  altho'  with  mickle  woe 

His  heart  was  like  to  break. 

He  raised  his  master  in  his  arms, 

And  set  him  on  his  knee  ; 
And  Robin's  eyes  beheld  the  skies, 

The  shaws,  the  greenwood  tree. 

The  brook  was  babbling  as  of  old, 
The  birds  sang  full  and  clear, 

And  the  wild-flowers  gay  like  a  carpet  lay 
In  the  path  of  the  timid  deer. 


THE  DEATH  OF  ROBIN  HOOD.  25 

"  O  Little  John,"  said  Robin  Hood, 

"  Meseemeth  now  to  be 
Standing  with  you  so  stanch  and  true 

Under  the  greenwood  tree. 

"  And  all  around  I  hear  the  sound 

Of  Sherwood  long  ago, 
And  my  merry  men  come  back  again,  — 

You  know,  sweet  friend,  you  know ! 

"  Now  mark  this  arrow ;  where  it  falls, 

When  I  am  dead  dig  deep, 
And  bury  me  there  in  the  greenwood  where 

I  would  forever  sleep." 

He  twanged  his  bow.     Upon  its  course 

The  clothyard  arrow  sped, 
And  when  it  fell  in  yonder  dell, 

Brave  Robin  Hood  was  dead. 

The  sheriff  sleeps  in  a  marble  vault, 

The  king  in  a  shroud  of  gold  ; 
And  upon  the  air  with  a  chanted  pray'r 

Mingles  the  mock  of  mould. 


26  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBIN  HOOD 

But  the  deer  draw  to  the  shady  pool, 

The  birds  sing  blithe  and  free, 
And  the  wild-flow'rs  bloom  o'er  a  hidden  tomb 

Under  the  greenwood  tree. 


LOLLYBY,  LOLLY,  LOLLY  BY,"  27 


"LOLLYBY,   LOLLY,    LOLLYBY." 

T   AST   night,  whiles  that   the   curfew  bell  ben 

ringing, 
I  heard  a  moder  to  her  dearie  singing 

"  Lollyby,  lolly,  lollyby." 

And  presently  that  chylde  did  cease  hys  weeping, 
And  on  his  moder's  breast  did  fall  a-sleeping, 

To  "lolly,  lolly,  lollyby." 

Faire  ben  the  chylde  unto  his  moder  clinging, 
But  fairer  yet  the  moder's  gentle  singing,  — 

"  Lollyby,  lolly,  lollyby." 
And  angels  came  and  kisst  the  dearie  smiling 
In  dreems  while  him  hys  moder  ben  beguiling 

With  "lolly,  lolly,  lollyby  !  " 

Then  to  my  harte  saies  I,  "  Oh,  that  thy  beating 
Colde  be  assuaged  by  some  swete  voice  repeating 
'  Lollyby,  lolly,  lollyby  ; ' 


28  "LOLLYBY,   LOLLY,   LOLLYBY." 

That  like  this  lyttel  chylde  I,  too,  ben  sleeping 
With  plaisaunt  phantasies  about  me  creeping, 
To  '  lolly,  lolly,  lollyby  ! '  " 

Sometime  —  mayhap  when  curfew  bells  are  ring 
ing— 
A  weary  harte  shall  heare  straunge  voices  singing, 

"  Lollyby,  lolly,  lollyby  ;  " 
Sometime,  mayhap,  with  Chrysts  love  round   me 

streaming, 

I  shall  be  lulled  into  eternal  dreeming 
With  "  lolly,  lolly,  lollyby." 


HORACE  AND  LYDIA    RECONCILED.          29 


HORACE   AND    LYDIA   RECONCILED. 

HORACE. 

\\7HEN  you  were  mine  in  auld  lang  syne, 

And  when  none  else  your  charms  might  ogle, 
I  '11  not  deny, 
Fair  nymph,  that  I 
Was  happier  than  a  Persian  mogul. 

LYDIA. 

Before  she  came  —  that  rival  flame  !  — 
(Was  ever  female  creature  sillier  ?) 
In  those  good  times, 
Bepraised  in  rhymes, 
I  was  more  famed  than  Mother  Ilia! 

HORACE. 

Chloe  of  Thrace  !     With  what  a  grace 
Does  she  at  song  or  harp  employ  her  ! 

I  'd  gladly  die 

If  only  I 
Might  live  forever  to  enjoy  her  ! 


30  HORACE  AND  LYDIA    RECONCILED. 

LYDIA. 

My  SybarSs  so  noble  is 
That,  by  the  gods  !  I  love  him  madly  — 
That  I  might  save 
Him  from  the  grave 
I  'd  give  my  life,  and  give  it  gladly  ! 

HORACE. 

What  if  ma  belle  from  favor  fell, 
And  I  made  up  my  mind  to  shake  her, 
Would  Lydia,  then, 
Come  back  again 
And  to  her  quondam  flame  betake  her  ? 

LYDIA. 
My  other  beau  should  surely  go, 

And  you  alone  should  find  me  gracious ; 
For  no  one  slings 
Such  odes  and  things 
As  does  the  lauriger  Horatius  ! 


OUR    TWO  OPINIONS.  31 


OUR  TWO   OPINIONS. 

T  7  S  two  wuz  boys  when  we  fell  out,  — 

Nigh  to  the  age  uv  my  youngest  now ; 
Don't  rec'lect  what  'twuz  about, 

Some  small  deeff'rence,  I  '11  allow. 
Lived  next  neighbors  twenty  years, 

A-hatin'  each  other,  me  'nd  Jim,  — 
He  havin'  his  opinyin  uv  me, 

'Nd  /  havin'  my  opinyin  uv  him. 

Grew  up  together  'nd  would  n't  speak, 

Courted  sisters,  'nd  marr'd  'em,  too ; 
'Tended  same  meetin'-house  oncet  a  week, 

A-hatin'  each  other  through  'nd  through  ! 
But  when  Abe  Linkern  asked  the  West 

F'r  soldiers,  we  answered,  —  me  'nd  Jim,  — 
He  havin'  his  opinyin  uv  me, 

'N.d  /  havin'  my  opinyin  uv  him. 


32  OUR   TWO  OPINIONS. 

But  down  in  Tennessee  one  night 

Ther  wuz  sound  uv  firin'  fur  away, 
'Nd  the  sergeant  allowed  ther  'd  be  a  fight 

With  the  Johnnie  Rebs  some  time  nex'  day 
'Nd  as  I  wuz  thinkin'  uv  Lizzie  'nd  home 

Jim  stood  afore  me,  long  nd  'slim,  — 
He  havin'  his  opinyin  uv  me, 

'Nd  /  havin'  my  opinyin  uv  him. 

Seemed  like  we  knew  there  wuz  goin'  to  be 

Serious  trouble  f'r  me  'nd  him  ; 
Us  two  shuck  hands,  did  Jim  'nd  me, 

But  never  a  word  from  me  or  Jim  ! 
He  went  his  way  'nd  /  went  mine, 

'Nd  into  the  battle's  roar  went  we,  — 
/  havin'  my  opinyin  uv  Jim, 

'Nd  he  havin'  his  opinyin  uv  me. 

Jim  never  come  back  from  the  war  again, 

But  I  haint  forgot  that  last,  last  night 
When,  waitin'  f'r  orders,  us  two  men 

Made  up  'nd  shuck  hands,  afore  the  fight. 
'Nd,  after  it  all,  it 's  soothin'  to  know 

That  here  7  be  'nd  yonder 's  Jim,  — 
He  havin'  his  opinyin  uv  me, 

'Nd  /  havin'  my  opinyin  uv  him. 


MOTHER  AND   CHILD.  33 


MOTHER  AND   CHILD. 

/~\NE  night  a  tiny  dewdrop  fell 
Into  the  bosom  of  a  rose,  — 
"  Dear  little  one,  I  love  thee  well, 
Be  ever  here  thy  sweet  repose !  " 

Seeing  the  rose  with  love  bedight, 

The  envious  sky  frowned  dark,  and  then 

Sent  forth  a  messenger  of  light 
And  caught  the  dewdrop  up  again. 

"  Oh,  give  me  back  my  heavenly  child,  — 
My  love  !  "  the  rose  in  anguish  cried  ; 

Alas  !  the  sky  triumphant  smiled, 

And  so  the  flower,  heart-broken,  died. 


34  ORKNEY  LULLABY. 


ORKNEY   LULLABY. 

A    MOONBEAM  floateth  from  the  skies, 

Whispering,  "  Heigho,  my  dearie  ! 
I  would  spin  a  web  before  your  eyes,  — 
A  beautiful  web  of  silver  light, 
Wherein  is  many  a  wondrous  sight 
Of  a  radiant  garden  leagues  away, 
Where  the  softly  tinkling  lilies  sway, 
And  the  snow-white  lambkins  are  at  play,  — 
Heigho,  my  dearie  !  " 

A  brownie  stealeth  from  the  vine 

Singing,  "  Heigho,  my  dearie  ! 
And  will  you  hear  this  song  of  mine,  — 
A  song  of  the  land  of  murk  and  mist 
Where  bideth  the  bud  the  dew  hath  kisst  ? 
Then  let  the  moonbeam's  web  of  light 
Be  spun  before  thee  silvery  white, 
And  I  shall  sing  the  livelong  night,  — 
Heigho,  my  dearie  !  " 


ORKNEY  LULLABY.  35 

The  night  wind  speedeth  from  the  sea, 

Murmuring,  "  Heigho,  my  dearie  ! 

I  bring  a  mariner's  prayer  for  thee  ; 

So  let  the  moonbeam  veil  thine  eyes, 

And  the  brownie  sing  thee  lullabies  ; 

But  I  shall  rock  thee  to  and  fro, 

Kissing  the  brow  he  loveth  so, 

And  the  prayer  shall  guard  thy  bed,  I  trow,  — 
Heigho,  my  dearie  !  " 


36  LITTLE  MACK. 


LITTLE   MACK. 

'"T HIS  talk  about  the  journalists  that  run  the  East 
is  bosh, 

We  Ve  got  a  Western  editor  that 's  little,  but,  O 
gosh ! 

He  lives  here  in  Mizzoora  where  the  people  are  so 
set 

In  ante-bellum  notions  that  they  vote  for  Jackson 
yet; 

But  the  paper  he  is  running  makes  the  rusty  fossils 
swear,  — 

The  smartest,  likeliest  paper  that  is  printed  any 
where  ! 

And,  best  of  all,  the  paragraphs  are  pointed  as  a 
tack, 

And  that 's  because  they  emanate 
From  little  Mack. 

In  architecture  he  is  what  you  'd  call  a  chunky  man, 
As  if  he  'd  been  constructed  on  the  summer-cottage 
plan ; 


LITTLE  MACK.  37 


He  has  a  nose  like  Bonaparte ;  and  round  his  mo 
bile  mouth 
Lies  all  the  sensuous  languor  of  the  children  of  the 

South ; 

His  dealings  with  reporters  who  affect  a  weekly  bust 
Have  given  to  his  violet  eyes  a  shadow  of  distrust ; 
In  glorious  abandon  his  brown  hair  wanders  back 
From  the  grand  Websterian  forehead 
Of  little  Mack. 

No  matter  what  the  item  is,  if  there  's  an  item  in  it, 
You  bet  your  life  he's  on  to  it  and  nips  it  in  a 

minute  ! 
From  multifarious  nations,  countries,  monarchies, 

and  lands, 
From   Afric's  sunny  fountains  and    India's  coral 

strands, 
From    Greenland's    icy   mountains    and    Siloam's 

shady  rills, 
He  gathers  in  his  telegrams,  and  Houser  pays  the 

bills; 
What  though  there  be  a  dearth  of  news,  he  has  a 

happy  knack 

Of  scraping  up  a  lot  of  scoops. 
Does  little  Mack. 


38  LITTLE  MACK. 


And  learning  ?     Well  he  knows  the  folks  of  every 

tribe  and  age 
That  ever  played  a  part  upon  this  fleeting  human 

stage ; 

His  intellectual  system  's  so  extensive  and  so  greedy 
That,  when  it  comes  to  records,  he  's  a  walkin'  cy- 

clopedy ; 
For  having  studied  (and   digested)  all   the  books 

a-goin', 
It  stands  to  reason  he  must  know  about  all 's  worth 

a-knowin' ! 

So  when  a  politician  with  a  record  's  on  the  track, 
We  're  apt  to  hear  some  history 
From  little  Mack. 

And  when  a  fellow-journalist  is  broke  and  needs  a 

twenty, 
Who  's  allus  ready  to  whack  up  a  portion  of  his 

plenty  ? 
Who  's  allus  got  a  wallet  that 's  as  full  of  sordid 

gain 
As  his  heart  is  full  of  kindness  and  his  head  is  full 

of  brain  ? 
Whose    bowels    of    compassion  will    in-va-ri-a-bly 

move 


LITTLE  MACK.  39 


Their  owner  to   those    courtesies   which    plainly, 

surely  prove 

That  he  's  the  kind  of  person  that  never  does  go 
back 

On  a  fellow  that 's  in  trouble  ? 
Why,  little  Mack  ! 

I  Ve  heard  'em  tell  of  Dana,  and  of  Bonner,  and  of 

Reid, 
Of  Johnnie  Cockerill,  who,  I  '11  own,  is  very  smart 

indeed ; 
Yet  I  don't  care  what  their  renown  or  influence 

may  be, 

One  metropolitan  exchange  is  quite  enough  for  me ! 
So  keep  your  Danas,  Bonners,  Reids,  your  Cock- 

erills,  and  the  rest, 
The  woods  is  full  of  better  men  all  through  this 

woolly  West; 
For   all   that  sleek,  pretentious,  Eastern   editorial 

pack 

We  would  n't  swap  the  shadow  of 
Our  little  Mack ! 


4°  TO  ROBIN  GOODFELLOW. 


TO   ROBIN   GOODFELLOW. 

T   SEE  you,  Maister  Bawsy-brown, 
Through  yonder  lattice  creepin' ; 
You  come  for  cream  and  to  gar  me  dream, 

But  you  dinna  find  me  sleepin'. 
The  moonbeam,  that  upon  the  floor 

Wi'  crickets  ben  a-jinkin', 
Now  steals  away  fra'  her  bonnie  play  — 

Wi'  a  rosier  blie,  I  'm  thinkin'. 

I  saw  you,  Maister  Bawsy-brown, 

When  the  blue  bells  went  a-ringin' 
For  the  merrie  fays  o'  the  banks  an'  braes, 

And  I  kenned  your  bonnie  singin' ; 
The  gowans  gave  you  honey  sweets, 

And  the  posies  on  the  heather 
Dript  draughts  o'  dew  for  the  faery  crew 

That  danct  and  sang  together. 


TO  ROBIN  GOODFELLOW.  41 

But  posie-bloom  an'  simmer-dew 

And  ither  sweets  o'  faery 
Cud  na  gae  down  wi'  Bawsy-brown, 

Sae  nigh  to  Maggie's  dairy! 
My  pantry  shelves,  sae  clean  and  white. 

Are  set  wi'  cream  and  cheeses,  — 
Gae,  gin  you  will,  an'  take  your  fill 

Of  whatsoever  pleases. 

Then  wave  your  wand  aboon  my  een 

Until  they  close  awearie, 
And  the  night  be  past  sae  sweet  and  fast 

Wi'  dreamings  o'  my  dearie. 
But  pinch  the  wench  in  yonder  room, 

For  she 's  na  gude  nor  bonnie,  — 
Her  shelves  be  dust  and  her  pans  be  rust, 

And  she  winkit  at  my  Johnnie ! 


42  APPLE-PIE  AND   CHEESE. 


APPLE-PIE   AND    CHEESE. 

"P^ULL  many  a  sinful  notion 

Conceived  of  foreign  powers 
Has  come  across  the  ocean 

To  harm  this  land  of  ours  ; 
And  heresies  called  fashions 

Have  modesty  effaced, 
And  baleful,  morbid  passions 
Corrupt  our  native  taste. 

0  tempera  !    O  mores  ! 
What  profanations  these 

That  seek  to  dim  the  glories 
Of  apple-pie  and  cheese ! 

1  'm  glad  my  education 

Enables  me  to  stand 
Against  the  vile  temptation 

Held  out  on  every  hand  •• 
Eschewing  all  the  tittles 

With  vanity  replete, 


APPLE-PIE  AND  CHEESE.  43 

I  'm  loyal  to  the  victuals 

Our  grandsires  used  to  eat ! 
I  'm  glad  I  Ve  got  three  willing  boys 

To  hang  around  and  tease 
Their  mother  for  the  filling  joys 

Of  apple-pie  and  cheese  ! 

Your  flavored  creams  and  ices 

And  your  dainty  angel-food 
Are  mighty  fine  devices 

To  regale  the  dainty  dude ; 
Your  terrapin  and  oysters, 

With  wine  to  wash  'em  down, 
Are  just  the  thing  for  roisters 

When  painting  of  the  town ; 
No  flippant,  sugared  notion 

Shall  my  appetite  appease, 
Or  bate  my  soul's  devotion 

To  apple-pie  and  cheese ! 


The  pie  my  Julia  makes  me 
(God  bless  her  Yankee  ways  !) 

On  memory's  pinions  takes  me 
To  dear  Green  Mountain  days ; 


44  APPLE-PIE  AND  CHEESE. 

And  seems  like  I  saw  Mother 

Lean  on  the  window-sill, 
A-handin'  me  and  brother 

What  she  knows  '11  keep  us  still ; 
And  these  feelings  are  so  grateful, 

Says  I,  "  Julia,  if  you  please, 
I  '11  take  another  plateful 

Of  that  apple-pie  and  cheese  !  " 

And  cheese !     No  alien  it,  sir, 

That 's  brought  across  the  sea,  — 
No  Dutch  antique,  nor  Switzer, 

Nor  glutinous  de  Brie; 
There 's  nothing  I  abhor  so 

As  mawmets  of  this  ilk  — 
Give  me  the  harmless  morceau 

That 's  made  of  true-blue  milk  ! 
No  matter  what  conditions 

Dyspeptic  come  to  feaze, 
The  best  of  all  physicians 

Is  apple-pie  and  cheese ! 

Though  ribalds  may  decry  'em, 
For  these  twin  boons  we  stand, 

Partaking  thrice  per  diem 
Of  their  fulness  out  of  hand ; 


APPLE-PIE  AND  CHEESE.  45 

No  enervating  fashion 

Shall  cheat  us  of  our  right 
To  gratify  our  passion 

With  a  mouthful  at  a  bite ! 
We  '11  cut  it  square  or  bias, 

Or  any  way  we  please, 
And  faith  shall  justify  us 

When  we  carve  our  pie  and  cheese ! 

De  gustibus,  't  is  stated, 

Non  disputandum  est. 
Which  meaneth,  when  translated, 

That  all  is  for  the  best. 
So  let  the  foolish  choose  'em 

The  vapid  sweets  of  sin, 
I  will  not  disabuse  'em 

Of  the  heresy  they  're  in ; 
But  I,  when  I  undress  me 

Each  night,  upon  my  knees 
Will  ask  the  Lord  to  bless  me 

With  apple-pie  and  cheese ! 


4  6  KRINKEN. 


KRINKEN. 


IV"  RINKEN  was  a  little  child,  — 

It  was  summer  when  he  smiled. 
Oft  the  hoary  sea  and  grim 
Stretched  its  white  arms  out  to  him, 
Calling,  "  Sun-child,  come  to  me ; 
Let  me  warm  my  heart  with  thee ! " 
But  the  child  heard  not  the  sea, 
Calling,  yearning  evermore 
For  the  summer  on  the  shore. 


Krinken  on  the  beach  one  day 
Saw  a  maiden  Nis  at  play ; 
On  the  pebbly  beach  she  played 
In  the  summer  Krinken  made. 
Fair,  and  very  fair,  was  she, 
Just  a  little  child  was  he. 


K  RINK  EN.  4  7 


"Krinken,"  said  the  maiden  Nis, 
"  Let  me  have  a  little  kiss,  — 
Just  a  kiss,  and  go  with  me 
To  the  summer-lands  that  be 
Down  within  the  silver  sea." 


Krinken  was  a  little  child  — 
By  the  maiden  Nis  beguiled, 
Hand  in  hand  with  her  went  he, 
And  'twas  summer  in  the  sea. 
And  the  hoary  sea  and  grim 
To  its  bosom  folded  him  — 
Clasped  and  kissed  the  little  form, 
And  the  ocean's  heart  was  warm. 


Now  the  sea  calls  out  no  more ; 
It  is  winter  on  the  shore,  — 
Winter  where  that  little  child 
Made  sweet  summer  when  he  smiled; 
Though  't  is  summer  on  the  sea 
Where  with  maiden  Nis  went  he,  — 
Summer,  summer  evermore, — 
It  is  winter  on  the  shore, 
Winter,  winter  evermore. 


48  K  RINK  EN. 


Of  the  summer  on  the  deep 
Come  sweet  visions  in  my  sleep  : 
His  fair  face  lifts  from  the  sea, 
His  dear  voice  calls  out  to  me,  — 
These  my  dreams  of  summer  be. 

Krinken  was  a  little  child, 
By  the  maiden  Nis  beguiled ; 
Oft  the  hoary  sea  and  grim 
Reached  its  longing  arms  to  him, 
Crying,  "  Sun-child,  come  to  me; 
Let  me  warm  my  heart  with  thee  ! 
But  the  sea  calls  out  no  more; 
It  is  winter  on  the  shore, — 
Winter,  cold  and  dark  and  wild ; 
Krinken  was  a  little  child,  — 
It  was  summer  when  he  smiled; 
Down  he  went  into  the  sea, 
And  the  winter  bides  with  me. 
Just  a  little  child  was  he. 


BERANGER'S   "BROKEN  FIDDLE."  49 


BERANGER'S   "BROKEN   FIDDLE." 


i. 

HTHERE,  there,  poor  dog,  my  faithful  friend, 

Pay  you  no  heed  unto  my  sorrow : 
But  feast  to-day  while  yet  you  may,  — 

Who  knows  but  we  shall  starve  to-morrow ! 


ii. 
"  Give  us  a  tune,"  the  foemen  cried, 

In  one  of  their  profane  caprices; 
I  bade  them  "  No  '*  —  they  frowned,  and,  lo ! 

They  dashed  this  innocent  in  pieces! 


in. 
This  fiddle  was  the  village  pride  — 

The  mirth  of  every  fete  enhancing ; 
Its  wizard  art  set  every  heart 
As  well  as  every  foot  to  dancing. 
4 


5O  BERANGER'S   "BROKEN  FIDDLE." 

IV. 

How  well  the  bridegroom  knew  its  voice, 
As  from  its  strings  its  song  went  gushing  ! 

Nor  long  delayed  the  promised  maid 
Equipped  for  bridal,  coy  and  blushing. 


v. 

Why,  it  discoursed  so  merrily, 
It  quickly  banished  all  dejection  ', 

And  yet,  when  pressed,  our  priest  confessed 
I  played  with  pious  circumspection. 


VI. 

And  though,  in  patriotic  song, 

It  was  our  guide,  compatriot,  teacher, 

I  never  thought  the  foe  had  wrought 
His  fury  on  the  helpless  creature ! 


VII. 

But  there,  poor  dog,  my  faithful  friend, 
Pay  you  no  heed  unto  my  sorrow ; 

I  prithee  take  this  paltry  cake,  — 

Who  knows  but  we  shall  starve  to-morrow ! 


BE  RANGER'S  "BROKEN  FIDDLE."  51 

VIII. 

Ah,  who  shall  lead  the  Sunday  choir 

As  this  old  fiddle  used  to  do  it  ? 
Can  vintage  come,  with  this  voice  dumb 

That  used  to  bid  a  welcome  to  it? 


IX. 

It  soothed  the  weary  hours  of  toil, 
It  brought  forgetfulness  to  debtors ; 

Time  and  again  from  wretched  men 
It  struck  oppression's  galling  fetters. 

x. 

No  man  could  hear  its  voice,  and  hate ; 

It  stayed  the  teardrop  at  its  portal ; 
With  that  dear  thing  I  was  a  king 

As  never  yet  was  monarch  mortal ! 

XI. 

Now  has  the  foe  —  the  vandal  foe  — 

Struck  from  my  hands  their  pride  and  glory ; 

There  let  it  lie !     In  vengeance,  I 
Shall  wield  another  weapon,  gory ! 


5 2  BERANGEFS  "BROKEN  FIDDLE." 

XII. 

And  if,  O  countrymen,  I  fall, 

Beside  our  grave  let  this  be  spoken : 

"  No  foe  of  France  shall  ever  dance 
Above  the  heart  and  fiddle,  broken ! " 


XIII. 

So  come,  poor  dog,  my  faithful  friend, 
I  prithee  do  not  heed  my  sorrow, 

But  feast  to-day  while  yet  you  may, 
For  we  are  like  to  starve  to-morrow. 


THE  LITTLE  PEACH.  53 


THE   LITTLE   PEACH. 

A     LITTLE  peach  in  the  orchard  grew, 

A  little  peach  of  emerald  hue ; 
Wanned  by  the  sun  and  wet  by  the  dew, 
It  grew. 

One  day,  passing  that  orchard  through, 
That  little  peach  dawned  on  the  view 
Of  Johnny  Jones  and  his  sister  Sue  — 
Them  two. 

Up  at  that  peach  a  club  they  threw  — 
Down  from  the  stem  on  which  it  grew 
Fell  that  peach  of  emerald  hue. 
Mon  Dieu ! 

John  took  a  bite  and  Sue  a  chew, 
And  then  the  trouble  began  to  brew,  — 
Trouble  the  doctor  could  n't  subdue. 
Too  true ! 


54  THE   LITTLE   PEACH. 

Under  the  turf  where  the  daisies  grew 
They  planted  John  and  his  sister  Sue, 
And  their  little  souls  to  the  angels  flew,  — 
Boo  hoo! 

What  of  that  peach  of  the  emerald  hue, 
Warmed  by  the  sun,  and  wet  by  the  dew  ? 
Ah,  well,  its  mission  on  earth  is  through. 

Adieu ! 
1880. 


HORACE  III.  23.  55 


HORACE   III.  13. 

FOUNTAIN  of  Bandusia, 
Whence  crystal  waters  flow, 
With  garlands  gay  and  wine  I  '11  pay 

The  sacrifice  I  owe ; 
A  sportive  kid  with  budding  horns 

I  have,  whose  crimson  blood 
Anon  shall  dye  and  sanctify 
Thy  cool  and  babbling  flood. 

O  fountain  of  Bandusia, 

The  dogstar's  hateful  spell 
No  evil  brings  unto  the  springs 

That  from  thy  bosom  well ; 
Here  oxen,  wearied  by  the  plough, 

The  roving  cattle  here, 
Hasten  in  quest  of  certain  rest 

And  quaff  thy  gracious  cheer. 


HORACE  III.   13. 


O  fountain  of  Bandusia, 

Ennobled  shalt  thou  be, 
For  I  shall  sing  the  joys  that  spring 

Beneath  yon  ilex-tree  ; 
Yes,  fountain  of  Bandusia, 

Posterity  shall  know 
The  cooling  brooks  that  from  thy  nooks 

Singing  and  dancing  go  ! 


THE  DIVINE   LULLABY,  57 


THE    DIVINE   LULLABY. 

T    HEAR  Thy  voice,  dear  Lord; 
I  hear  it  by  the  stormy  sea 

When  winter  nights  are  black  and  wild, 
And  when,  affright,  I  call  to  Thee ; 
It  calms  my  fears  and  whispers  me, 

"  Sleep  well,  my  child." 

I  hear  Thy  voice,  dear  Lord, 
In  singing  winds,  in  falling  snow, 

The  curfew  chimes,  the  midnight  bell. 
"  Sleep  well,  my  child,"  it  murmurs  low  ; 
"  The  guardian  angels  come  and  go,  — 

0  child,  sleep  well !  " 

1  hear  Thy  voice,  dear  Lord , 

Ay,  though  the  singing  winds  be  stilled, 

Though  hushed  the  tumult  of  the  deep, 
My  fainting  heart  with  anguish  chilled 
By  Thy  assuring  tone  is  thrilled,  — 
"  Fear  not,  and  sleep !  " 


58  THE    DITINE   LULLABY. 

Speak  on  —  speak  on,  dear  Lord  ! 
And  when  the  last  dread  night  is  near, 

With  doubts  and  fears  and  terrors  wild, 
Oh,  let  my  soul  expiring  hear 
Only  these  words  of  heavenly  cheer, 

"  Sleep  well,  my  child ! " 


IN  THE  FIRELIGHT.  59 


IN   THE   FIRELIGHT. 

HPHE  fire  upon  the  hearth  is  low, 
And  there  is  stillness  everywhere, 
While  like  winged  spirits,  here  and  there, 

The  firelight  shadows  fluttering  go. 

And  as  the  shadows  round  me  creep, 
A  childish  treble  breaks  the  gloom, 
And  softly  from  a  further  room 

Comes,  "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep." 

And  somehow,  with  that  little  prayer 
And  that  sweet  treble  in  my  ears, 
My  thoughts  go  back  to  distant  years 

And  linger  with  a  loved  one  there ; 

And  as  I  hear  my  child's  amen, 

My  mother's  faith  comes  back  to  me,  — 
Crouched  at  her  side  I  seem  to  be, 

And  Mother  holds  my  hands  again. 


60  IN   THE  FIRELIGHT. 

Oh,  for  an  hour  in  that  dear  place  ! 

Oh,  for  the  peace  of  that  dear  time ! 

Oh,  for  that  childish  trust  sublime  ! 
Oh,  for  a  glimpse  of  Mother's  face ! 
Yet,  as  the  shadows  round  me  creep, 

I  do  not  seem  to  be  alone,  — 

Sweet  magic  of  that  treble  tone, 
And  *4  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep." 

1885. 


HEINE'S  "WIDOW  OR    DAUGHTER?"         6 1 


HEINE'S   "WIDOW   OR   DAUGHTER?" 

O  HALL  I  woo  the  one  or  other  ? 
^     Both  attract  me  —  more  's  the  pity  ! 
Pretty  is  the  widowed  mother, 
And  the  daughter,  too,  is  pretty. 

When  I  see  that  maiden  shrinking, 
By  the  gods  I  swear  I  'II  get  'er ! 

But  anon  I  fall  to  thinking 
That  the  mother  '11  suit  me  better ! 

So,  like  any  idiot  ass 

Hungry  for  the  fragrant  fodder, 
Placed  between  two  bales  of  grass, 

Lo,  I  doubt,  delay,  and  dodder ! 


62  CHRISTMAS   TREASURES. 


CHRISTMAS   TREASURES. 

T    COUNT  my  treasures  o'er  with  care,  — 
The  little  toy  my  darling  knew, 
A  little  sock  of  faded  hue, 

A  little  lock  of  golden  hair. 

Long  years  ago  this  holy  time, 

My  little  one  —  my  all  to  me  — 
Sat  robed  in  white  upon  my  knee 

And  heard  the  merry  Christmas  chime. 

"  Tell  me,  my  little  golden-head, 

If  Santa  Claus  should  come  to-night, 
What  shall  he  bring  my  baby  bright,  — 

What  treasure  for  my  boy  ?  "  I  said. 

And  then  he  named  this  little  toy, 

While  in  his  round  and  mournful  eyes 
There  came  a  look  of  sweet  surprise, 

That  spake  his  quiet,  trustful  joy. 


CHRISTMAS    TREASURES.  63 

And  as  he  lisped  his  evening  prayer 

He  asked  the  boon  with  childish  grace  ; 
Then,  toddling  to  the  chimney-place, 

He  hung  this  little  stocking  there. 

That  night,  while  lengthening  shadows  crept, 
I  saw  the  white-winged  angels  come 
With  singing  to  our  lowly  home 

And  kiss  my  darling  as  he  slept. 

They  must  have  heard  his  little  prayer, 
For  in  the  morn,  with  rapturous  face, 
He  toddled  to  the  chimney-place, 

And  found  this  little  treasure  there. 

They  came  again  one  Christmas-tide, — 
That  angel  host,  so  fair  and  white  ! 
And  singing  all  that  glorious  night, 

They  lured  my  darling  from  my  side. 

A  little  sock,  a  little  toy, 

A  little  lock  of  golden  hair, 
The  Christmas  music  on  the  air, 

A  watching  for  my  baby  boy ! 


64  CHRISTMAS   TREASURES. 

But  if  again  that  angel  train 

And  golden-head  come  back  for  me, 

To  bear  me  to  Eternity, 
My  watching  will  not  be  in  vain ! 

1879. 


DE  AMICITIIS.  65 


DE  AMICITIIS. 

THOUGH  care  and  strife 

Elsewhere  be  rife, 
Upon  my  word  I  do  not  heed  'em ; 

In  bed  I  lie 

With  books  hard  by, 
And  with  increasing  zest  I  read  'em. 

Propped  up  in  bed, 

So  much  I  've  read 
Of  musty  tomes  that  I  Ve  a  headful 

Of  tales  and  rhymes 

Of  ancient  times, 
Which,  wife  declares,  are  "simply  dreadful! 

They  give  me  joy 

Without  alloy ; 
And  is  n't  that  what  books  are  made  for  ? 

And  yet  —  and  yet  — 

(Ah,  vain  regret !) 

I  would  to  God  they  all  were  paid  for  ! 
5 


66  DE  AMICITIIS. 


No  festooned  cup 

Filled  foaming  up 
Can  lure  me  elsewhere  to  confound  me ; 

Sweeter  than  wine 

This  love  of  mine 
For  these  old  books  I  see  around  me ! 

A  plague,  I  say, 

On  maidens  gay; 
I  '11  weave  no  compliments  to  tell  'em  ! 

Vain  fool  I  were, 

Did  I  prefer 
Those  dolls  to  these  old  friends  in  vellum  ! 

At  dead  of  night 

My  chamber  's  bright 
Not  only  with  the  gas  that 's  burning, 

But  with  the  glow 

Of  long  ago,  — 
Of  beauty  back  from  eld  returning. 

Fair  women's  looks 

I  see  in  books, 
I  see  them,  and  I  hear  their  laughter,  — 

Proud,  high-born  maids, 

Unlike  the  jades 
Which  menfolk  now  go  chasing  after  ! 


DE   AMICITIIS.  67 


Herein  again 

Speak  valiant  men 
Of  all  nativities  and  ages  ; 

I  hear  and  smile 

With  rapture  while 
I  turn  these  musty,  magic  pages. 

The  sword,  the  lance, 

The  morris  dance, 
The  highland  song,  the  greenwood  ditty. 

Of  these  I  read, 

Or,  when  the  need, 
My  Miller  grinds  me  grist  that 's  gritty ! 

When  of  such  stuff 

We  Ve  had  enough, 
Why,  there  be  other  friends  to  greet  us  ; 

We  '11  moralize 

In  solemn  wise 
With  Plato  or  with  Epictetus. 

Sneer  as  you  may, 

I'm  proud  to  say 
That  I,  for  one,  am  very  grateful 

To  Heaven,  that  sends 

These  genial  friends 
To  banish  other  friendships  hateful ! 


68  DE  AMICITIIS. 


And  when  I  'm  done, 

I  'd  have  no  son 
Pounce  on  these  treasures  like  a  vulture 

Nay,  give  them  half 

My  epitaph, 
And  let  them  share  in  my  sepulture. 

Then,  when  the  crack 

Of  doom  rolls  back 
The  marble  and  the  earth  that  hide  me, 

I  '11  smuggle  home 

Each  precious  tome, 
Without  a  fear  my  wife  shall  chide  me  i 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  MINE.  69 


OUR    LADY  OF   THE    MINE. 

r~nHE  Blue  Horizon  wuz  a  mine  us  fellers  all 

thought  well  uv, 
And  there   befell   the   episode  I  now  perpose  to 

tell  uv; 
'T  wuz  in  the  year  uv  sixty-nine,  —  somewhere 

along  in  summer,  — 
There  hove   in  sight  one  afternoon   a   new  and 

curious  comer; 
His  name  wuz  Silas  Pettibone,  —  a  artist  by  per- 

fession,  — 
With  a  kit  of  tools   and  a  big  mustache  and  a 

pipe  in  his  possession. 
He  told  us,  by  our  leave,  he  'd  kind  uv  like  to 

make  some  sketches 
Uv  the  snowy  peaks,  'nd  the  foamin'  crick,  'nd 

the  distant  mountain  stretches ; 
"  You  're  welkim,  sir,"  sez  we,  although  this  sce 
nery  dodge  seemed  to  us 
A  waste  uv  time  where  scenery  wuz  already  sooper- 


70  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  MINE. 


All  through  the  summer  Pettibone  kep'  busy  at  his 
sketch  in', — 

At  daybreak  off  for  Eagle  Pass,  and  home  at  night 
fall,  fetchin' 

That  everlastin'  book  uv  his  with  spider-lines  all 
through  it ; 

Three-Fingered  Hoover  used  to  say  there  warn't 
no  meanin'  to  it. 

"  Gol  durn  a  man,"  sez  he  to  him,  "  whose  shif'less 
hand  is  sot  at 

A-drawin'  hills  that  's  full  uv  quartz  that 's  pinin' 
to  be  got  at !  " 

"Go  on,"  sez  Pettibone,  "go  on,  if  joshin'  grati 
fies  ye; 

But  one  uv  these  fine  times  I  '11  show  ye  sumthin' 
will  surprise  ye  !  " 

The  which  remark  led  us  to  think  —  although  he 
did  n't  say  it  — 

That  Pettibone  wuz  owin'  us  a  gredge  'nd  meant 
to  pay  it. 

One  evenin'  as  we  sat  around  the  Restauraw  de 

Casey, 
A-singin'   songs  'nd   tellin'  yarns   the  which  wuz 

sumwhat  racy, 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE   MINE. 


In  come  that  feller  Pettibone,  'nd  sez,  "  With  your 
permission, 

I  'd  like  to  put  a  picture  I  have  made  on  exhi 
bition." 

He  sot  the  picture  on  the  bar  'nd  drew  aside  its 
curtain, 

Sayin',  "  I  recken  you  '11  allow  as  how  that's  art, 
f'r  certain  !  " 

And  then  we  looked,  with  jaws  agape,  but  nary 
word  wuz  spoken, 

And  f'r  a  likely  spell  the  charm  uv  silence  wuz 
unbroken  — 

Till  presently,  as  in  a  dream,  remarked  Three- 
Fingered  Hoover  : 

"  Onless  I  am  mistaken,  this  is  Pettibone's  shef 
doover ! " 

It  wuz  a  face  —  a  human  face  —  a  woman's,  fair 

'nd  tender  — 
Sot  gracefully  upon  a  neck  white  as  a  swan's,  and 

slender ; 
The  hair  wuz  kind  uv  sunny,  'nd  the  eyes  wuz  sort 

uv  dreamy, 
The  mouth  wuz  half  a-smilin',  'nd  the  cheeks  wuz 

soft  'nd  creamy ; 


72  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  MINE. 

It  seemed  like  she  wuz  lookin'  off  into  the  west 

out  yonder, 
And  seemed  like,  while  she  looked,  we  saw  her 

eyes  grow  softer,  fonder, — 
Like,  lookin'  off  into   the   west,  where   mountain 

mists  wuz  fallin', 
She  saw  the  face  she  longed  to  see  and  heerd  his 

voice  a-callin' ; 
•'  Hooray  !  "  we  cried,  —  "a  woman  in  the  camp  uv 

Blue  Horizon  ! 
Step  right  up,  Colonel  Pettibone,  'nd  nominate  your 

pizen  !  " 

A    curious     situation,  —  one    deservin'     uv     your 

pity,  — 
No  human,  livin',  female  thing  this  side  of  Denver 

City! 
But  jest  a  lot  uv  husky  men  that  lived  on  sand  'nd 

bitters,  — 
Do  you  wonder  that  that  woman's  face  consoled 

the  lonesome  critters  ? 
And  not  a  one  but  what  it  served  in  some  way  to 

remind  him 
Of  a  mother  or  a  sister  or  a  sweetheart  left  behind 

him ; 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  MINE.  73 

And  some  looked  back  on  happier  days,  and  saw 

the  old-time  faces 
And  heerd  the  dear  familiar  sounds  in  old  familiar 

places,  — 
A  gracious   touch   of    home.     "  Look   here,"   sez 

Hoover,  "ever'body 
Quit  thinkin'  'nd  perceed   at  oncet  to  name  his 

favorite  toddy !  " 

It  wuz  n't  long  afore  the  news  had  spread  the  coun 
try  over, 

And  miners  come  a-flockin'  in  like  honey-bees  to 
clover ; 

It  kind  uv  did  'em  good,  they  said,  to  feast  their 
hungry  eyes  on 

That  picture  uv  Our  Lady  in  the  camp  uv  Blue 
Horizon. 

But  one  mean  cuss  from  Nigger  Crick  passed  criti 
cisms  on  'er,  — 

Leastwise  we  overheerd  him  call  her  Pettibone's 
madonner, 

The  which  we  did  not  take  to  be  respectful  to  a 
lady, 

So  we  hung  him  in  a  quiet  spot  that  wuz  cool  'nd 
dry  'nd  shady; 


74  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  MINE. 

Which  same  might  not  have  been  good  law,  but  it 

WUZ  the  right  maneuver 
To  give  the  critics  due  respect  for  Pettibone's  shef 

doover. 

Gone  is  the  camp,  —  yes,  years  ago  the  Blue  Hori 
zon  busted, 
And  every  mother's  son  uv  us  got  up  one  day  'nd 

dusted, 
While  Pettibone  perceeded  East  with  wealth  in  his 

possession, 
And  went  to  Yurrup,  as  I  heerd,  to  study  his  per- 

fession ; 
So,  like  as  not,  you  '11  find  him  now  a-paintin'  heads 

'nd  faces 
At  Venus,   Billy  Florence,  and  the  like  I-talyun 

places. 
But  no  sech  face  he  '11  paint  again  as  at  old  Blue 

Horizon, 
For  I  '11  allow  no  sweeter  face  no  human  soul  sot 

eyes  on ; 
And  when  the  critics  talk  so  grand  uv  Paris  'nd  the 

Loover, 
\  say,  "  Oh,  but  you  orter  seen  the  Pettibone  shef 

doover ! " 


THE    WANDERER.  75 


THE   WANDERER. 


UPON  a  mountain  height,  far  from  the  sea, 
I  found  a  shell, 

And  to  my  listening  ear  the  lonely  thing 
Ever  a  song  of  ocean  seemed  to  sing, 
Ever  a  tale  of  ocean  seemed  to  tell. 


How  came  the  shell  upon  that  mountain  height? 

Ah,  who  can  say 

Whether  there  dropped  by  some  too  careless  hand, 
Or  whether  there  cast  when  Ocean  swept  the  Land, 

Ere  the  Eternal  had  ordained  the  Day  ? 

Strange,  was  it  not  ?     Far  from  its  native  deep, 

One  song  it  sang,  — 
Sang  of  the  awful  mysteries  of  the  tide, 
Sang  of  the  misty  sea,  profound  and  wide,  — 

Ever  with  echoes  of  the  ocean  rang. 


7 6  THE    WANDERER. 

And  as  the  shell  upon  the  mountain  height 

Sings  of  the  sea, 

So  do  I  ever,  leagues  and  leagues  away,  — 
So  do  I  ever,  wandering  where  I  may, — 

Sing,  O  my  home !  sing,  O  my  home !  of  thee. 

1883. 


TO  A    USURPER.  77 


TO  A  USURPER. 

A  HA  !  a  traitor  in  the  camp, 
A  rebel  strangely  bold,  — 
A  lisping,  laughing,  toddling  scamp, 
Not  more  than  four  years  old  ! 

To  think  that  I,  who  've  ruled  alone 

So  proudly  in  the  past, 
Should  be  ejected  from  my  throne 

By  my  own  son  at  last ! 

He  trots  his  treason  to  and  fro, 

As  only  babies  can, 
And  says  he  '11  be  his  mamma's  beau 

When  he 's  a  "  gweat,  big  man  "  ! 

You  stingy  boy  !  you  've  always  had 
A  share  in  mamma's  heart ; 

Would  you  begrudge  your  poor  old  dad 
The  tiniest  little  part  ? 


78  TO  A    USURPER. 

That  mamma,  I  regret  to  see, 
Inclines  to  take  your  part,  — 

As  if  a  dual  monarchy 

Should  rule  her  gentle  heart ! 

But  when  the  years  of  youth  have  sped, 
The  bearded  man,  I  trow, 

Will  quite  forget  he  ever  said 
He  'd  be  his  mamma's  beau. 

Renounce  your  treason,  little  son, 
Leave  mamma's  heart  to  me  ; 

For  there  will  come  another  one 
To  claim  your  loyalty. 

And  when  that  other  comes  to  you, 
God  grant  her  love  may  shine 

Through  all  your  life,  as  fair  and  true 
As  mamma's  does  through  mine  ! 

1885. 


LULLABY;    BY  THE  SEA.  79 


LULLABY  ;    BY  THE   SEA. 

AIR  is  the  castle  up  on  the  hill  — 

Hushaby,  sweet  my  own  ! 
The  night  is  fair,  and  the  waves  are  still, 
And  the  wind  is  singing  to  you  and  to  me 
In  this  lowly  home  beside  the  sea  — 

Hushaby,  sweet  my  own  ! 

On  yonder  hill  is  store  of  wealth  — 

Hushaby,  sweet  my  own  ! 
And  revellers  drink  to  a  little  one's  health ; 
But  you  and  I  bide  night  and  day 
For  the  other  love  that  has  sailed  away  — 

Hushaby,  sweet  my  own  ! 

See  not,  dear  eyes,  the  forms  that  creep 

Ghostlike,  O  my  own  ! 
Out  of  the  mists  of  the  murmuring  deep  ; 
Oh,  see  them  not  and  make  no  cry 
Till  the  angels  of  death  have  passed  us  by  - 

Hushaby,  sweet  my  own  ! 


80  LULLABY;    BY  THE  SEA. 

Ah,  little  they  reck  of  you  and  me  — 

Hushaby,  sweet  my  own  ! 
In  our  lonely  home  beside  the  sea ; 
They  seek  the  castle  up  on  the  hill, 
And  there  they  will  do  their  ghostly  will  — 

Hushaby,  O  my  own  ! 

Here  by  the  sea  a  mother  croons 

"  Hushaby,  sweet  my  own  !  " 
In  yonder  castle  a  mother  swoons 
While  the  angels  go  down  to  the  misty  deep, 
Bearing  a  little  one  fast  asleep  — 
Hushaby,  sweet  my  own ! 


SOLDIER,   MAIDEN,   AND  FLOWER.  8 1 


SOLDIER,  MAIDEN,  AND   FLOWER. 

"  O  WEETHEART,  take  this,"  a  soldier  said, 

^    "  And  bid  me  brave  good-by ; 
It  may  befall  we  ne'er  shall  wed, 

But  love  can  never  die. 
Be  steadfast  in  thy  troth  to  me, 

And  then,  whate'er  my  lot, 
*  My  soul  to  God,  my  heart  to  thee,'  — 

Sweetheart,  forget  me  not !  " 

The  maiden  took  the  tiny  flower 

And  nursed  it  with  her  tears  : 
Lo  !  he  who  left  her  in  that  hour 

Came  not  in  after  years. 
Unto  a  hero's  death  he  rode 

'Mid  shower  of  fire  and  shot; 
But  in  the  maiden's  heart  abode 

The  flower,  forget-me-not. 
6 


82  SOLDIER,  MAIDEN,  AND  FLOWER. 

And  when  he  came  not  with  the  rest 

From  out  the  years  of  blood, 
Closely  unto  her  widowed  breast 

She  pressed  a  faded  bud  ; 
Oh,  there  is  love  and  there  is  pain, 

And  there  is  peace,  God  wot,  — 
And  these  dear  three  do  live  again 

In  sweet  forget-me-not. 

'T  is  to  an  unmarked  grave  to-day 

That  I  should  love  to  go,  — 
Whether  he  wore  the  blue  or  gray, 

What  need  that  we  should  know. 
"He  loved  a  woman,"  let  us  say, 

And  on  that  sacred  spot, 
To  woman's  love,  that  lives  for  aye, 

We  '11  strew  forget-me-not. 

1887. 


HORACE    TO  MELPOMENE.  83 


HORACE   TO    MELPOMENE. 

T  OFTY  and  enduring  is  the  monument  I  Ve 
*-'  reared,  — 

Come,  tempests,  with  your  bitterness  assailing; 
And  thou,  corrosive  blasts  of  time,  by  all  things 
mortal  feared, 

Thy  buffets  and  thy  rage  are  unavailing ! 

I  shall  not  altogether  die ;  by  far  my  greater  pai 
Shall  mock  man's  common  fate  in  realms  infernal 

My  works  shall  live  as  tributes  to  my  genius  ana 

my  art,  — • 
My  works  shall  be  my  monument  eternal ! 

While  this  great  Roman  empire  stands  and  gods 

protect  our  fanes, 

Mankind  with  grateful  hearts  shall  tell  the  story, 
How  one  most  lowly  born  upon  the  parched 

lian  plains 
First  raised  the  native  lyric  muse  to  glory. 


84  HORACE    TO  MELPOMENE. 

Assume,  revered  Melpomene,  the  proud  estate  I  Ve 

won, 

And,  with  thine  own  dear  hand  the  meed  sup 
plying, 

Bind  thou  about  the  forehead  of  thy  celebrated  son 
The  Delphic  laurel-wreath  of  fame  undying ! 


AILS  IE,   MY  BAIRN.  85 


AILSIE,  MY  BAIRN. 

T     IE  in  my  arms,  Ailsie,  my  bairn,  — 
^~*     Lie  in  my  arms  and  dinna  greit ; 
Long  time  been  past  syn  I  kenned  you  last, 
But  my  harte  been  allwais  the  same,  my  swete. 

Ailsie,  I  colde  not  say  you  ill, 

For  out  of  the  mist  of  your  bitter  tears, 

And  the  prayers  that  rise  from  your  bonnie  eyes 
Cometh  a  promise  of  oder  yeres. 

I  mind  the  time  when  we  lost  our  bairn,  — 
Do  you  ken  that  time  ?    A  wambling  tot, 

You  wandered  away  ane  simmer  day, 

And  we  hunted  and  called,  and  found  you  not. 

I  promised  God,  if  He  'd  send  you  back, 
Alwaies  to  keepe  and  to  love  you,  childe ; 

And  I  'm  thinking  again  of  that  promise  when 
I  see  you  creep  out  of  the  storm  sae  wild. 


86  AILSIE,  MY  BAIRN. 

You  came  back  then  as  you  come  back  now,  — 
Your  kirtle  torn  and  your  face  all  white ; 

And  you  stood  outside  and  knockit  and  cried, 
Just  as  you,  dearie,  did  to-night. 

Oh,  never  a  word  of  the  cruel  wrang, 

That  has  faded  your  cheek  and  dimmed  your  ee  ; 
And  never  a  word  of  the  fause,  fause  lord,  — 

Only  a  smile  and  a  kiss  for  me. 

Lie  in  my  arms,  as  long,  long  syne, 

And  sleepe  on  my  bosom,  deere  wounded  thing, — 
I  'm  nae  sae  glee  as  I  use  to  be, 

Or  I  'd  sing  you  the  songs  I  use  to  sing. 

But  He  kemb  my  fingers  thro'  yr  haire, 
And  nane  shall  know,  but  you  and  I, 

Of  the  love  and  the  faith  that  came  to  us  baith 
When  Ailsie,  my  bairn,  came  home  to  die. 


CORNISH  LULLABY.  87 


CORNISH   LULLABY. 

T  on  the  mountain  over  the  town, 
All  night  long,  all  night  long, 
The  trolls  go  up  and  the  trolls  go  down, 

Bearing  their  packs  and  crooning  a  song ; 
And  this  is  the  song  the  hill-folk  croon, 
As  they  trudge  in  the  light  of  the  misty  moon,  — 
This  is  ever  their  dolorous  tune  : 
"  Gold,  gold  !  ever  more  gold,  — 

Bright  red  gold  for  dearie  !  " 

Deep  in  the  hill  the  yeoman  delves 

All  night  long,  all  night  long ; 
None  but  the  peering,  furtive  elves 

See  his  toil  and  hear  his  song ; 
Merrily  ever  the  cavern  rings 
As  merrily  ever  his  pick  he  swings, 
And  merrily  ever  this  song  he  sings  : 
"  Gold,  gold !  ever  more  gold,  — 

Bright  red  gold  for  dearie  !  " 


88  CORNISH  LULLABY. 

Mother  is  rocking  thy  lowly  bed 

All  night  long,  all  night  long, 
Happy  to  smooth  thy  curly  head 

And  to  hold  thy  hand  and  to  sing  her  song ; 
'T  is  not  of  the  hill-folk,  dwarfed  and  old, 
Nor  the  song  of  the  yeoman,  stanch  and  bold, 
And  the  burden  it  beareth  is  not  of  gold ; 
But  it 's  "  Love,  love  !  —  nothing  but  love,  — 
Mother's  love  for  dearie  !  " 


UHLAND^S  "THREE  CAVALIERS."  89 


UHLAND'S   "THREE   CAVALIERS." 

rT^HERE  were  three  cavaliers  that  went  over  the 
*       Rhine, 

And  gayly  they  called  to  the  hostess  for  wine. 
"  And  where  is  thy  daughter  ?    We  would  she  were 

here,  — 
Go  fetch  us  that  maiden  to  gladden  our  cheer  !  " 

"  I  '11   fetch   thee  thy  goblets   full   foaming,"   she 

said, 
"  But  in  yon  darkened  chamber  the  maiden  lies 

dead." 

And  lo !  as  they  stood  in  the  doorway,  the  white 
Of  a  shroud  and  a  dead  shrunken  face  met  their 

sight. 

Then  the  first  cavalier  breathed  a  pitiful  sigh, 
And  the  throb  of  his  heart  seemed  to  melt  in  his 
eye, 


90  UH LAND'S  "THREE   CAVALIERS." 

And  he  cried,  "  Hadst  thou  lived,  O  my  pretty 

white  rose, 
I  ween   I   had  loved  thee  and  wed  thee  —  who 

knows  ?  " 

The  next  cavalier  drew  aside  a  small  space, 
And  stood  to  the  wall  with  his  hands  to  his  face; 
And   this  was  the   heart-cry  that   came  with  his 

tears  : 
"  I  loved  her,  I  loved  her  these  many  long  years  !  " 

But  the  third  cavalier  kneeled  him  down  in  that 

place, 

And,  as  it  were  holy,  he  kissed  that  dead  face  : 
"  I  loved  thee  long  years,  and  I  love  thee  to-day, 
And  I  '11  love  thee,  dear  maiden,  forever  and  aye  !  " 


CHAUCERIAN   PARAPHRASE   OF  HORACE.        9 1 


A   CHAUCERIAN   PARAPHRASE   OF 
HORACE. 

YN  that  you,  Chloe,  to  your  moder  sticken, 

Maketh  all  ye  yonge  bacheloures  full  sicken ; 
Like  as  a  lyttel  deere  you  ben  y-hiding 
Whenas  come  lovers  with  theyre  pityse  chiding ; 
Sothly  it  ben  faire  to  give  up  your  moder 
For  to  beare  swete  company  with  some  oder ; 
Your  moder  ben  well  enow  so  farre  shee  goeth, 
But  that  ben  not  farre  enow,  God  knoweth  ; 
Wherefore  it  ben  sayed  that  foolysh  ladyes 
That  marrye  not  shall  leade  an  aype  in  Hadys ; 
But  all  that  do  with  gode  men  wed  full  quickylye 
When  that  they  be  on  dead  go  to  ye  seints  full 
sickerly. 


92  NORSE  LULLABY. 


NORSE   LULLABY. 

HP  HE  sky  is  dark  and  the  hills  are  white 

As    the  storm-king   speeds   from  the  north 

to-night, 

And  this  is  the  song  the  storm-king  sings, 
As  over  the  world  his  cloak  he  flings  : 

"  Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep ;  " 
He  rustles  his  wings  and  gruffly  sings : 
"  Sleep,  little  one,  sleep." 

On  yonder  mountain-side  a  vine 
Clings  at  the  foot  of  a  mother  pine  ; 
The  tree  bends  over  the  trembling  thing, 
And  only  the  vine  can  hear  her  sing : 

"  Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep ; 
What  shall  you  fear  when  I  am  here  ? 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep." 


NORSE  LULLABY.  93 

The  king  may  sing  in  his  bitter  flight, 
The  tree  may  croon  to  the  vine  to-night, 
But  the  little  snowflake  at  my  breast 
Liketh  the  song  /sing  the  best,  — 

Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep  ; 
Weary  thou  art,  anext  my  heart 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep. 


94       BERA.VGER'S   "MY  LAST  SONG,   PERHAPS." 


BERANGER'S   "  MY   LAST    SONG 
PERHAPS." 

[JANUARY,   1814.] 

"X  \  7 HEN,  to  despoil  my  native  France, 

With  flaming  torch  and  cruel  sword 
And  boisterous  drums  her  foeman  comes, 

I  curse  him  and  his  vandal  horde  ! 
Yet,  what  avail  accrues  to  her, 

If  we  assume  the  garb  of  woe  ? 
Let 's  merry  be,  —  in  laughter  we 

May  rescue  somewhat  from  the  foe! 

Ah,  many  a  brave  man  trembles  now. 

I  (coward  !)  show  no  sign  of  fear ; 
When  Bacchus  sends  his  blessing,  friends, 

I  drown  my  panic  in  his  cheer. 
Come,  gather  round  my  humble  board, 

And  let  the  sparkling  wassail  flow,  — 
Chuckling  to  think,  the  while  you  drink, 

"  This  much  we  rescue  from  the  foe  !  " 


BERANGER'S  "Mr  LAST  SO.VG,   PERHAPS."       95 

My  creditors  beset  me  so 

And  so  environed  my  abode, 
That  I  agreed,  despite  my  need, 

To  settle  up  the  debts  I  owed ; 
When  suddenly  there  came  the  news 

Of  this  invasion,  as  you  know ; 
I  '11  pay  no  score  ;  pray,  lend  me  more,  — 

I  — /will  keep  it  from  the  foe  ! 

Now  here  's  my  mistress,  —  pretty  dear  !  — • 

Feigns  terror  at  this  martial  noise, 
And  yet,  methinks,  the  artful  minx 

Would  like  to  meet  those  soldier  boys  ! 
I  tell  her  that  they  're  coarse  and  rude, 

Yet  feel  she  don't  believe  'em  so,  — 
Well,  never  mind ;  so  she  be  kind, 

That  much  I  rescue  from  the  foe  ! 

If,  brothers,  hope  shall  have  in  store 

For  us  and  ours  no  friendly  glance, 
Let 's  rather  die  than  raise  a  cry 

Of  welcome  to  the  foes  of  France  ! 
But,  like  the  swan  that  dying  sings, 

Let  us,  O  Frenchmen,  singing  go,  — 
Then  shall  our  cheer,  when  death  is  near, 

Be  so  much  rescued  from  the  foe  ! 


9  6        MR.    DANA,    OF    THE  NEW  YORK  SUN. 


MR.   DANA,   OF    THE    NEW  YORK    SUN. 
showed  up  out  'n  Denver  in  the  spring 


X         uv  '8  1 
A  man  who  'd  worked  with  Dana  on  the  Noo  York 

Sun. 
His  name  wuz    Cantell  Whoppers,  'nd  he  wuz  a 

sight  ter  view 
Ez  he  walked  inter  the  orfice  'nd  inquired  fer  work 

to  do. 
Thar  warn't  no  places  vacant  then,  —  fer  be  it  un 

derstood, 
That  wuz  the  time  when  talent  flourished  at  that 

altitood  ; 
But  thar  the  stranger  lingered,  tellin'  Raymond  'nd 

the  rest 
Uv  what  perdigious  wonders  he  could  do  when  at 

his  best, 
'Til  finally  he  stated  (quite  by  chance)  that  he  hed 

done 
A  heap  uv  work  with  Dana  on  the  Noo  York  Sun. 


MR.   DANA,   OF    THE  NEW  YORK  SUN.       97 

Wall,  that  wuz  quite  another  thing ;  we  owned  that 

ary  cuss 
Who  'd  worked  f  r  Mr.  Dana  must  be  good  enough 

fer  us  ! 
And  so  we  tuk  the  stranger's  word  'nd  nipped  him 

while  we  could, 
For  if  we  didn't  take  him  we  knew  John  Arkins 

would; 
And  Cooper,  too,  wuz  mouzin'  round  fer  enterprise 

'nd  brains, 
Whenever  them  commodities   blew  in  across  the 

plains. 
At  any  rate  we  nailed  him,  which  made  oP  Cooper 

swear 
And  Arkins  tear  out  handfuls  uv  his  copious  curly 

hair ; 
But  we  set  back  and  cackled,  'nd  hed  a  power  uv 

fun 
With  our  man  who  'd  worked  with  Dana  on  the  Noo 

York  Sun. 

It  made  our  eyes  hang  on  our  cheeks  'nd  lower 

jaws  ter  drop, 
Tcr  hear  that  feller  tellin'  how  oP  Dana  run  his 

shop  : 

7 


9  8        MR.   DAN  A,   OF  THE    NEW  YORK  SUN. 

It  seems  that  Dana  wuz  the  biggest  man  you  ever 

saw,  — 
He  lived  on  human  bein's,  'nd  preferred  to  eat  'em 

raw! 
If  he  hed  democratic  drugs  ter  take,  before  he  took 

em', 
As  good   old   allopathic  laws  prescribe,  he  allus 

shook  'em. 
The  man  that  could  set  down  'nd  write  like  Dany 

never  grew, 
And  the   sum  of  human  knowledge  wuz  n't  half 

what  Dana  knew ; 
The  consequence  appeared  to  be  that  nearly  every 

one 
Concurred  with  Mr.  Dana  of  the  Noo  York  Sun. 

This  feller,  Cantell  Whoppers,  never  brought  an 

item  in, — 
He  spent  his  time  at  Perrin's  shakin'  poker  dice  f'r 

gin- 
Whatever  the  assignment  he  wuz  allus  sure  to  shirk, 
He  wuz  very  long  on  likker  and  all-fired  short  on 

work  ! 
If  any  other  cuss  had  played  the  tricks  he  dared 

ter  play, 


MR.  DANA,   OF    THE  NEW  YORK  SUN.       99 

The  daisies  would  be  bloomin'  over  his   remains 

to-day ; 
But  somehow  folks  respected  him  and  stood  him 

to  the  last, 

Considerin'  his  superior  connections  in  the  past. 
So,  when  he  bilked  at  poker,  not  a  sucker  drew  a 

gun 
On  the  man  who  'd  worked  with  Dana  on  the  Noo 

York  Sun. 

Wall,  Dana  came  ter  Denver  in  the  fall  uv  '83, 
A  very  different  party  from  the  man  we  thought  ter 

see,— 
A  nice  'nd  clean  old  gentleman,  so  dignerfied  'nd 

calm, 

You  bet  yer  life  he  never  did  no  human  bein'  harm  ! 
A  certain  hearty  manner  'nd  a  fulness  uv  the  vest 
Betokened  that  his  sperrits  'nd  his  victuals  wuz  the 

best; 
His  face  was  so  benevolent,  his  smile  so  sweet  'nd 

kind, 
That  they  seemed  to  be  the  reflex  uv  an  honest, 

healthy  mind ; 
And  God  had  set  upon  his  head  a  crown  uv  silver 

hair 


100    MR.   DANA,   OF  THE    NEW  YORK  SUN. 

In  promise  uv  the  golden  crown  He  meaneth  him 

to  wear. 
So,  uv  us  boys  that  met  him  out  'n  Denver,  there 

wuz  none 
But  fell   in   love   with   Dana  uv   the   Noo    York 

Sun. 

But  when  he  came  to  Denver  in  that  fall  uv  '83, 
His   old    friend    Cantell    Whoppers    disappeared 

upon   a   spree ; 
The   very  thought  uv  seein'  Dana  worked  upon 

him  so 
(They  had  n't  been  together  fer  a  year  or  two,  you 

know), 
That  he  borrered  all  the  stuff  he  could  and  started 

on  a  bat, 
And,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  we  didn't  see  him 

after  that. 

So,  when  ol'  Dana  hove  in  sight,  we  could  n't  un 
derstand 
Why  he  did  n't  seem  to  notice  that  his  crony  wa'  n't 

on  hand ; 

No  casual  allusion,  not  a  question,  no,  not  one, 
For  the  man  who  'd  "  worked  with  Dana  on  the  Noo 

Ycrk  Sun  !  " 


MR.  DANA,   OF  THE   N£tf  YtitiK"  SUN.     M>*  \  ' 

We  broke  it  gently  to  him,  out  > he'  didn't  sGc'm 

surprised, 
Thar  wuz  no  big  burst  uv  passion  as  we  fellers  had 

surmised. 
He  said  that  Whoppers  wuz  a  man  he'd  never 

heerd  about, 
But  he  mought  have  carried  papers  on  a  Jarsey 

City  route ; 

And  then  he  recollected  hearin'  Mr.  Laffan  say 
That  he  'd  fired  a  man  named  Whoppers  fur  bein' 

drunk  one  day, 
Which,  with  more  likker  underneath  than  money  in 

his  vest, 
Had  started  on  a  freight   train  fur  the  great  'nd 

boundin'  West, 

But  further  information  or  statistics  he  had  none 
Uv  the  man  who  'd  "  worked  with  Dana  on  the  Noo 

York  Sun." 

We  dropped  the  matter  quietly  'nd  never  made  no 

fuss,  — • 
When  we  get  played  for  suckers,  why,  that 's  a  horse 

on  us !  — 
But  every  now  'nd  then  we  Denver  fellers  have  to 

faff 


102    MR.  DA&'A-,  OF  THE   NEW  YORK  SUN. 

To  hear  some  other  paper  boast  uv  havin'  on  its 

staff 
A  man  who's  "worked  with  Dana,"  'nd  then  we 

fellers  wink 
And  pull  our  hats  down  on  our  eyes  'nd  set  around 

'nd  think. 
It  seems  like  Dana  couldn't  be  as  smart  as  people 

say, 
If  he   educates   so   many  folks  'nd   lets  'em   get 

away; 
And,  as   for  us,  in  future  we  '11   be  very  apt  to 

shun 
The  man  who  "worked  with   Dana  on  the  Noo 

York  Sun." 

But  bless  ye,  Mr.  Dana !  may  you  live  a  thousan' 

years, 
To  sort  o'  keep  things  lively  in  this  vale  of  human 

tears ; 
An'  may  /  live  a  thousan',  too,  —  a  thousan'  less  a 

day, 
For  I  should  n't  like  to  be  on  earth  to  hear  you  'd 

passed  away. 
And  when  it  comes  your  time  to  go  you  '11  need  no 

Latin  chaff 


MR.   DANA,  OF  THE    NEW  YORK  SUN.     103 

Nor  biographic  data  put  in  your  epitaph ; 

But  one  straight  line  of  English  and  of  truth  will 

let  folks  know 
The  homage  'nd  the  gratitude  'nd  reverence  they 

owe; 
You  '11  need  no  epitaph  but  this :    "  Here  sleeps 

the  man  who  run 
That    best  'nd    brightest    paper,    the    Noo  York 

Sun." 


104  SICILIAN  LULLABY. 


SICILIAN   LULLABY. 

T  T  USH,  little  one,  and  fold  your  hands  ; 
The  sun  hath  set,  the  moon  is  high  ; 
The  sea  is  singing  to  the  sands, 

And  wakeful  posies  are  beguiled 
By  many  a  fairy  lullaby : 

Hush,  little  child,  my  little  child  ! 

Dream,  little  one,  and  in  your  dreams 

Float  upward  from  this  lowly  place,  — 
Float  out  on  mellow,  misty  streams 

To  lands  where  bideth  Mary  mild, 
And  let  her  kiss  thy  little  face, 
You  little  child,  my  little  child  ! 

Sleep,  little  one,  and  take  thy  rest, 

With  angels  bending  over  thee,  — 
Sleep  sweetly  on  that  Father's  breast 

Whom  our  dear  Christ  hath  reconciled  ; 
But  stay  not  there,  —  come  back  to  me, 
O  little  child,  my  little  child  ! 


HORACE    TO  PYRRHA.  105 


HORACE  TO   PYRRHA. 

"\  T  THAT  perfumed,  posie-dizened  sirrah, 

*  *     With  smiles  for  diet, 
Clasps  you,  O  fair  but  faithless  Pyrrha, 

On  the  quiet  ? 
For  whom  do  you  bind  up  your  tresses, 

As  spun-gold  yellow,  — 
Meshes  that  go,  with  your  caresses, 

To  snare  a  fellow  ? 

How  will  he  rail  at  fate  capricious, 

And  curse  you  duly  ! 
Yet  now  he  deems  your  wiles  delicious, 

You  perfect,  truly  ! 
Pyrrha,  your  love  's  a  treacherous  ocean ; 

He  '11  soon  fall  in  there  ! 
Then  shall  I  gloat  on  his  commotion, 

For  /  have  been  there  ! 


IO6  THE    TWENTY-THIRD  PSALM, 


THE   TWENTY-THIRD   PSALM. 

A  l\  Y  Shepherd  is  the  Lord  my  God, 

There  is  no  want  I  know ; 
His  flock  He  leads  in  verdant  meads, 
Where  tranquil  waters  flow. 

He  doth  restore  my  fainting  soul 

With  His  divine  caress, 
And,  when  I  stray,  He  points  the  way 

To  paths  of  righteousness. 

Yea,  though  I  walk  the  vale  of  death, 

What  evil  shall  I  fear  ? 
Thy  staff  and  rod  are  mine,  O  God, 

And  Thou,  my  Shepherd,  near ! 

Mine  enemies  behold  the  feast 
Which  my  dear  Lord  hath  spread ; 

And,  lo  !  my  cup  He  filleth  up. 
With  oil  anoints  my  head  ! 


THE   TWENTY-THIRD  PSALM. 


Goodness  and  mercy  shall  be  mine 

Unto  my  dying  day  ; 
Then  will  I  bide  at  His  dear  side 

Forever  and  for  aye  ! 


108  THE  BIBLIOMANIAC'S  BRIDE. 


THE   BIBLIOMANIACS    BRIDE. 

HPHE  womenfolk  are  like  to  books,  — 

Most  pleasing  to  the  eye, 
Whereon  if  anybody  looks 
He  feels  disposed  to  buy. 

I  hear  that  many  are  for  sale,  — 

Those  that  record  no  dates, 
And  such  editions  as  regale 

The  view  with  colored  plates. 

Of  every  quality  and  grade 
And  size  they  may  be  found,  — 

Quite  often  beautifully  made, 
As  often  poorly  bound. 

Now,  as  for  me,  had  I  my  choice, 

I  'd  choose  no  folio  tall, 
But  some  octavo  to  rejoice 

My  sight  and  heart  withal,  — 


THE  BIBLIOMANIAC'S  BRIDE. 


As  plump  and  pudgy  as  a  snipe  ; 

Well  worth  her  weight  in  gold  ; 
Of  honest,  clean,  conspicuous  type, 

And  just  the  size  to  hold  ! 

With  such  a  volume  for  my  wife, 

How  should  I  keep  and  con  ! 
How  like  a  dream  should  run  my  life 

Unto  its  colophon  ! 

Her  frontispiece  should  be  more  fair 

Than  any  colored  plate  ; 
Blooming  with  health,  she  would  not  care 

To  extra-illustrate. 

And  in  her  pages  there  should  be 

A  wealth  of  prose  and  verse, 
With  now  and  then  ajeu  d"1  esprit,  — 

But  nothing  ever  worse  ! 

Prose  for  me  when  I  wished  for  prose, 
Verse  when  to  verse  inclined,  — 

Forever  bringing  sweet  repose 
To  body,  heart,  and  mind. 


HO  THE  BIBLIOMANIAC'S  BRIDE. 

Oh,  I  should  bind  this  priceless  prize 

In  bindings  full  and  fine, 
And  keep  her  where  no  human  eyes 

Should  see  her  charms,  but  mine  ! 

With  such  a  fair  unique  as  this 

What  happiness  abounds  ! 
Who  —  who  could  paint  my  rapturous  bliss, 

My  joy  unknown  to  Lowndes  ! 


CHRISTMAS  HYMN.  Ill 


CHRISTMAS   HYMN. 

SING,  Christmas  bells  ! 
Say  to  the  earth  this  is  the  morn 
Whereon  our  Saviour-King  is  born  ; 

Sing  to  all  men,  —  the  bond,  the  free, 
The  rich,  the  poor,  the  high,  the  low, 
The  little  child  that  sports  in  glee, 
The  aged  folk  that  tottering  go,  — 
Proclaim  the  morn 
That  Christ  is  born, 
That  saveth  them  and  saveth  me  ! 

Sing,  angel  host ! 

Sing  of  the  star  that  God  has  placed 
Above  the  manger  in  the  east ; 

Sing  of  the  glories  of  the  night, 
The  virgin's  sweet  humility, 

The  Babe  with  kingly  robes  bedight,  - 
Sing  to  all  men  where'er  they  be 
This  Christmas  morn ; 
For  Christ  is  born, 
That  saveth  them  and  saveth  me  ! 


112  CHRISTMAS   HYMN, 

Sing,  sons  of  earth  ! 
O  ransomed  seed  of  Adam,  sing  ! 
God  liveth,  and  we  have  a  king ! 

The  curse  is  gone,  the  bond  are  free,  — 
By  Bethlehem's  star  that  brightly  beamed, 

By  all  the  heavenly  signs  that  be, 
We  know  that  Israel  is  redeemed  ; 
That  on  this  morn 
The  Christ  is  born 
That  saveth  you  and  saveth  me  ! 

Sing,  O  my  heart ! 
Sing  thou  in  rapture  this  dear  morn 
Whereon  the  blessed  Prince  is  born  ! 

And  as  thy  songs  shall  be  of  love, 
So  let  my  deeds  be  charity,  — 

By  the  dear  Lord  that  reigns  above, 
By  Him  that  died  upon  the  tree, 
By  this  fair  morn 
Whereon  is  born 
The  Christ  that  saveth  all  and  me  ! 


JAPANESE  LULLABY.  1 13 


JAPANESE   LULLABY. 

O  LEEP,  little  pigeon,  and  fold  your  wings,  — 

Little  blue  pigeon  with  velvet  eyes  ; 

Sleep  to  the  singing  of  mother-bird  swinging  — 

Swinging  the  nest  where  her  little  one  lies. 

Away  out  yonder  I  see  a  star,  — 

Silvery  star  with  a  tinkling  song ; 
To  the  soft  dew  falling  I  hear  it  calling  — 

Calling  and  tinkling  the  night  along. 

In  through  the  window  a  moonbeam  comes,  — 
Little  gold  moonbeam  with  misty  wings  ; 

All  silently  creeping,  it  asks,  "  Is  he  sleeping  — 
Sleeping  and  dreaming  while  mother  sings  ?  " 

Up  from  the  sea  there  floats  the  sob 

Of  the  waves  that  are  breaking  upon  the  shore, 
As  though  they  were  groaning  in  anguish,  and 
moaning  — 

Bemoaning  the  ship  that  shall  come  no  more. 


114  JAPANESE  LULLABY. 

But  sleep,  little  pigeon,  and  fold  your  wings,  — • 
Little  blue  pigeon  with  mournful  eyes  ; 

Am  I  not  singing  ?  —  see,  I  am  swinging  — 
Swinging  the  nest  where  my  darling  lies. 


"GOOD-BY-GOD  BLESS   YOU!"  II 5 


"GOOD-BY  —  GOD   BLESS   YOU!" 

T  LIKE  the  Anglo-Saxon  speech 
•*•     With  its  direct  revealings  ; 
It  takes  a  hold,  and  seems  to  reach 

Way  down  into  your  feelings ; 
That  some  folk  deem  it  rude,  I  know, 

And  therefore  they  abuse  it ; 
But  I  have  never  found  it  so,  — 

Before  all  else  I  choose  it. 
I  don't  object  that  men  should  air 

The  Gallic  they  have  paid  for, 
With  "  Au  revoir,"  "  Adieu,  ma  chere," 

For  that 's  what  French  was  made  for. 
But  when  a  crony  takes  your  hand 

At  parting,  to  address  you, 
He  drops  all  foreign  lingo  and 

He  says,  "  Good-by  —  God  bless  you !  * 

This  seems  to  me  a  sacred  phrase, 
With  reverence  impassioned,  — 


Il6  "GOOD-BY—GOD  BLESS   YOU  I" 

A  thing  come  down  from  righteous  days, 

Quaintly  but  nobly  fashioned  ; 
It  well  becomes  an  honest  face, 

A  voice  that  's  round  and  cheerful ; 
It  stays  the  sturdy  in  his  place, 

And  soothes  the  weak  and  fearful. 
Into  the  porches  of  the  ears 

It  steals  with  subtle  unction, 
And  in  your  heart  of  hearts  appears 

To  work  its  gracious  function; 
And  all  day  long  with  pleasing  song 

It  lingers  to  caress  you,  — 
I  'm  sure  no  human  heart  goes  wrong 

That 's  told  "  Good-by  —  God  bless  you ! 

I  love  the  words,  —  perhaps  because, 

When  I  was  leaving  Mother, 
Standing  at  last  in  solemn  pause 

We  looked  at  one  another, 
And  I  —  I  saw  in  Mother's  eyes 

The  love  she  could  not  tell  me,  — 
A  love  eternal  as  the  skies, 

Whatever  fate  befell  me  ; 
She  put  her  arms  about  my  neck 

And  soothed  the  pain  of  leaving, 


GOOD-BY—GOD  BLESS   YOU!" 


And  though  her  heart  was  like  to  break, 
She  spoke  no  word  of  grieving  ; 

She  let  no  tear  bedim  her  eye, 
For  fear  that  might  distress  me, 

But,  kissing  me,  she  said  good-by, 
And  asked  our  God  to  bless  me. 


n8 


HORACE    TO  PHYLLIS. 


HORACE   TO    PHYLLIS. 


£,  Phyllis,  I  Ve  a  cask  of  wine 
That  fairly  reeks  with  precious  juices, 
And  in  your  tresses  you  shall  twine 

The  loveliest  flowers  this  vale  produces. 

My  cottage  wears  a  gracious  smile,  — 
The  altar,  decked  in  floral  glory, 

Yearns  for  the  lamb  which  bleats  the  while 
As  though  it  pined  for  honors  gory. 

Hither  our  neighbors  nimbly  fare,  — 
The  boys  agog,  the  maidens  snickering; 

And  savory  smells  possess  the  air 

As  skyward  kitchen  flames  are  flickering. 

You  ask  what  means  this  grand  display, 
This  festive  throng,  and  goodly  diet  ? 

Well,  since  you  're  bound  to  have  your  way, 
I  don't  mind  telling,  on  the  quiet. 


HORACE    TO  PHYLLIS. 


'Tis  April  13,  as  you  know,  — 
A  day  and  month  devote  to  Venus, 

Whereon  was  born,  some  years  ago, 
My  very  worthy  friend  Maecenas. 

Nay,  pay  no  heed  to  Telephus,  — 
Your  friends  agree  he  does  n't  love  you  ; 

The  way  he  flirts  convinces  us 
He  really  is  not  worthy  of  you  ! 

Aurora's  son,  unhappy  lad  ! 

You  know  the  fate  that  overtook  him  ? 
And  Pegasus  a  rider  had  — 

I  say  he  had  before  he  shook  him  ! 

Hasc  docet  (as  you  must  agree)  : 
'T  is  meet  that  Phyllis  should  discover 

A  wisdom  in  preferring  me 
And  mittening  every  other  lover. 

So  come,  O  Phyllis,  last  and  best 

Of  loves  with  which  this  heart  's  been  smitten, 
Come,  sing  my  jealous  fears  to  rest, 

And  let  your  songs  be  those  I've  written. 


I2O  CHRYSTMASSE   OF  OLDE. 


CHRYSTMASSE   OF   OLDE. 

OD  rest  you,  Chrysten  gentil  men, 

Wherever  you  may  be,  — 
God  rest  you  all  in  fielde  or  hall, 

Or  on  ye  stormy  sea  ; 
For  on  this  morn  oure  Chryst  is  born 
That  saveth  you  and  me. 

Last  night  ye  shepherds  in  ye  east 
Saw  many  a  wondrous  thing  ; 

Ye  sky  last  night  flamed  passing  bright 
Whiles  that  ye  stars  did  sing, 

And  angels  came  to  bless  ye  name 
Of  Jesus  Chryst,  oure  Kyng. 

God  rest  you,  Chrysten  gentil  men, 

Faring  where'er  you  may ; 
In  noblesse  court  do  thou  no  sport, 

In  tournament  no  playe, 
In  paynim  lands  hold  thou  thy  hands 

From  bloudy  works  this  daye. 


CHRYSTMASSE   OF  OLDE.  121 

But  thinking  on  ye  gentil  Lord 

That  died  upon  ye  tree, 
Let  troublings  cease  and  deeds  of  peace 

Abound  in  Chrystantie ; 
For  on  this  morn  ye  Chryst  is  born 

That  saveth  you  and  me. 


122  AT  THE  DOOR. 


AT  THE   DOOR. 

T  THOUGHT  myself  indeed  secure, 

So  fast  the  door,  so  firm  the  lock; 
But,  lo !  he  toddling  comes  to  lure 
My  parent  ear  with  timorous  knock. 

My  heart  were  stone  could  it  withstand 
The  sweetness  of  my  baby's  plea,  — 

That  timorous,  baby  knocking  and 
"  Please  let  me  in,  —  it 's  only  me." 

I  threw  aside  the  unfinished  book, 
Regardless  of  its  tempting  charms, 

And  opening  wide  the  door,  I  took 
My  laughing  darling  in  my  arms. 

Who  knows  but  in  Eternity, 
I,  like  a  truant  child,  shall  wait 

The  glories  of  a  life  to  be, 

Beyond  the  Heavenly  Father's  gate  ? 


AT  THE  DOOR.  123 

And  will  that  Heavenly  Father  heed 

The  truant's  supplicating  cry, 
As  at  the  outer  door  I  plead, 

"  'T  is  I,  O  Father !  only  I  ?  " 


1886. 


124  HI-SPY. 


HI -SPY. 

TRANCE  that  the  city  thoroughfare, 

Noisy  and  bustling  all  the  day, 
Should  with  the  night  renounce  its  care 
And  lend  itself  to  children's  play  ! 

Oh,  girls  are  girls,  and  boys  are  boys, 
And  have  been  so  since  Abel's  birth, 

And  shall  be  so  'til  dolls  and  toys 
Are  with  the  children  swept  from  earth. 

The  self-same  sport  that  crowns  the  day 
Of  many  a  Syrian  shepherd's  son, 

Beguiles  the  little  lads  at  play 
By  night  in  stately  Babylon. 

I  hear  their  voices  in  the  street, 
Yet 't  is  so  different  now  from  then  ! 

Come,  brother  !  from  your  winding  sheet, 
And  let  us  two  be  boys  again  ! 

1886. 


LITTLE   C  ROOD  LIN  DOO.  125 


LITTLE   CROODLIN    DOO. 

T  T  O,  pretty  bee,  did  you  see  my  croodlin  doo  ? 

Ho,  little  lamb,  is  she  jinkin'  on  the  lea  ? 
Ho,  bonnie  fairy,  bring  my  dearie  back  to  me  — 
Got  a  lump  o'  sugar  an'  a  posie  for  you, 
Only  bring  back  my  wee,  wee  croodlin  doo  ! 

Why,  here  you  are,  my  little  croodlin  doo  ! 
Looked  in  er  cradle,  but  did  n't  find  you  there, 
Looked  f  V  my  wee,  wee  croodlin  doo  ever'where ; 

Ben  kind  lonesome  all  er  day  withouten  you  ; 

Where  you  ben,  my  little  wee,  wee  croodlin  doo  ? 

Now  you  go  balow,  my  little  croodlin  doo  ; 

Now  you  go  rockaby  ever  so  far,  — 

Rockaby,  rockaby,  up  to  the  star 
That 's  winkin'  an'  blinkin'  an'  singin'  to  you 
As  you  go  balow,  my  wee,  wee  croodlin  doo  ! 


126 


THE   "HAPPY  ISLES"  OF  HORACE. 


THE   "HAPPY   ISLES"   OF  HORACE. 

/^\H,  come  with  me  to  the  Happy  Isles 

In  the  golden  haze  off  yonder, 
Where  the  song  of  the  sun-kissed  breeze  beguiles, 
And  the  ocean  loves  to  wander. 

Fragrant  the  vines  that  mantle  those  hills, 

Proudly  the  fig  rejoices  ; 
Merrily  dance  the  virgin  rills, 

Blending  their  myriad  voices. 

Our  herds  shall  fear  no  evil  there, 

But  peacefully  feed  and  rest  them  ; 
Neither  shall  serpent  or  prowling  bear 

Ever  come  there  to  molest  them. 

Neither  shall  Eurus,  wanton  bold, 

Nor  feverish  drouth  distress  us, 
But  he  that  compasseth  heat  and  cold 

Shall  temper  them  both  to  bless  us. 


THE   " HA PPY  ISLES "   OF  HORA CE.        12>J 

There  no  vandal  foot  has  trod, 
And  the  pirate  hosts  that  wander 

Shall  never  profane  the  sacred  sod 
Of  those  beautiful  Isles  out  yonder. 

Never  a  spell  shall  blight  our  vines, 

Nor  Sirius  blaze  above  us, 
But  you  and  I  shall  drink  our  wines 

And  sing  to  the  loved  that  love  us. 

So  come  with  me  where  Fortune  smiles 
And  the  gods  invite  devotion,  — 

Oh,  come  with  me  to  the  Happy  Isles 
In  the  haze  of  that  far-off  ocean  ! 


128  DUTCH  LULLABY. 


DUTCH   LULLABY. 

TT7YNKEN,  Blynken,  and  Nod  one  night 

Sailed  off  in  a  wooden  shoe,  — 
Sailed  on  a  river  of  misty  light 

Into  a  sea  of  dew. 
"  Where  are  you  going,  and  what  do  you  wish  ?  " 

The  old  moon  asked  the  three. 
"  We  have  come  to  fish  for  the  herring-fish 
That  live  in  this  beautiful  sea  ; 
Nets  of  silver  and  gold  have  we," 
Said  Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

The  old  moon  laughed  and  sung  a  song, 
As  they  rocked  in  the  wooden  shoe  ; 

And  the  wind  that  sped  them  all  night  long 
Ruffled  the  waves  of  dew ; 

The  little  stars  were  the  herring-fish 

That  lived  in  the  beautiful  sea. 


DUTCH  LULLABY.  I2<) 

"  Now  cast  your  nets  wherever  you  wish, 
But  never  afeard  are  we  !  " 
So  cried  the  stars  to  the  fishermen  three, 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And  Nod. 

All  night  long  their  nets  they  threw 

For  the  fish  in  the  twinkling  foam, 
Then  down  from  the  sky  came  the  wooden  shoe, 

Bringing  the  fishermen  home  ; 
'T  was  all  so  pretty  a  sail,  it  seemed 

As  if  it  could  not  be  ; 
And  some   folk  thought  't  was  a  dream  they  'd 

dreamed 

Of  sailing  that  beautiful  sea  ; 
But  I  shall  name  you  the  fishermen  three  : 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

Wynken  and  Btynken  are  two  little  eyes, 

And  Nod  is  a  little  head, 
And  the  wooden  shoe  that  sailed  the  skies 

Is  a  wee  one's  trundle-bed  ; 
9 


13°  DUTCH  LULLABY. 

So  shut  your  eyes  while  Mother  sings 

Of  wonderful  sights  that  be, 
And  you  shall  see  the  beautiful  things 
As  you  rock  on  the  misty  sea 
Where  the  old  shoe  rocked  the  fishermen  three,  — 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 


HUGO'S  "FLOWER    TO  BUTTERFLY 


HUGO'S   "FLOWER  TO   BUTTERFLY. 

^WEET,  bide  with  me  and  let  my  love 

Be  an  enduring  tether ; 
Oh,  wanton  not  from  spot  to  spot, 
But  let  us  dwell  together. 

You  Ve  come  each  morn  to  sip  the  sweets 
With  which  you  found  me  dripping, 

Yet  never  knew  it  was  not  dew 
But  tears  that  you  were  sipping. 

You  gambol  over  honey  meads 
Where  siren  bees  are  humming ; 

But  mine  the  fate  to  watch  and  wait 
For  my  beloved's  coming. 

The  sunshine  that  delights  you  now 
Shall  fade  to  darkness  gloomy  ; 

You  should  not  fear  if,  biding  here* 
You  nestled  closer  to  me. 


I32      HUGO'S   "FLOWER    TO  BUTTERFLY: 


So  rest  you,  love,  and  be  my  love, 
That  my  enraptured  blooming 

May  fill  your  sight  with  tender  light, 
Your  wings  with  sweet  perfuming. 

Or,  if  you  will  not  bide  with  me 

Upon  this  quiet  heather, 
Oh,  give  me  wing,  thou  beauteous  thing, 

That  we  may  soar  together. 


A    PROPER    TREWE    IDYLL   OF  CAME  LOT.       133 


A  PROPER  TREWE  IDYLL  OF  CAMELOT. 

AT  7HENAS  ye  plaisaunt  Aperille  shoures  have 

washed  and  purged  awaye 
Ye  poysons   and  ye   rheums  of  earth  to  make  a 

merrie  May, 
Ye  shraddy  boscage  of  ye  woods  ben  full  of  birds 

that  syng 

Right  merrilie  a  madrigal  unto  ye  waking  spring, 
Ye  whiles  that  when  ye  face  of  earth  ben  washed 

and  wiped  ycleane 
Her  peeping  posies  blink  and  stare  like  they  had 

ben  her  een; 
Then,  wit  ye  well,  ye  harte  of  man  ben  turned  to 

thoughts  of  love, 
And,  tho'  it  ben  a  lyon  erst,  it  now  ben  like  a 

dove  ! 

And  many  a  goodly  damosel  in  innocence  beguiles 
Her  owne  trewe  love   with   sweet  discourse  and 

divers  plaisaunt  wiles. 
In  soche  a  time  ye  noblesse  liege  that  ben  Kyng 

Arthure  hight 


134      A   PROPER   TREWE   IDYLL   OF  CAMELOT. 

Let  cry  a  joust  and  tournament  for  evereche  errant 
knyght, 

And,  lo !  from  distant  Joyous-garde  and  eche  adja 
cent  spot 

A  company  of  noblesse  lords  fared  unto  Camelot, 

Wherein  were  mighty  f eastings  and  passing  merrie 
cheere, 

And  eke  a  deale  of  dismal  dole,  as  you  shall  quickly 
heare. 

It  so  befell  upon  a  daye  when  jousts  ben  had  and 

while 
Sir  Launcelot  did  ramp  around  ye  ring  in  gallaunt 

style, 
There  came  an  horseman  shriking  sore  and  rashing 

wildly  home,  — 
A  mediaeval    horseman  with   ye  usual  flecks  of 

foame; 
And  he  did  brast  into  ye  ring,  wherein  his  horse  did 

drop, 
Upon  ye  which  ye  rider  did  with  like  abruptness 

stop, 
And  with  fatigue  and  tearfulness  continued  in  a 

swound 
Ye  space  of  half  an  hour  or  more  before  a  leech 

was  founde. 


A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL    OF   CAME  LOT.       135 

"  Now  tell   me  straight,"  quod  Launcelot,  "  what 

varlet  knyght  you  be, 
Ere  that  I  chine  you  with  my  sworde  and  cleave 

your  harte  in  three  !  " 

Then  rolled  that  knyght  his  bloudy  een,  and  an 
swered  with  a  groane,  — 
"  By  worthy  God  that  hath  me  made  and  shope  ye 

sun  and  mone, 
There  fareth  hence  an  evil  thing  whose  like  ben 

never  scene, 
And  tho'  he  sayeth  nony  worde,  he  bodethe  ill,  I 

ween. 
So  take  your  parting,  evereche  one,  and  gird  you 

for  ye  fraye, — 
By  all  that's  pure,  ye  Divell  sure  doth  trend  his 

path  this  way  !  " 
Ye  which  he  quoth  and  fell  again  into  a  deadly 

swound, 
And  on  that  spot,  perchance  (God  wot),  his  bones 

mought  yet  be  founde. 

Then  evereche  knight  girt  on  his  sworde  and  shield 

and  hied  him  straight 
To  meet   ye  straunger  sarasen  hard   by  ye  city 

gate; 


136       A    PROPER    TREH'E  IDYLL    OF    CAMELOT. 

Full  sorely  moaned  ye  damoseis  and  tore  their  beau- 
tyse  haire 

For  that  they  feared  an  hippogriff  wolde  come  to 
eate  them  there ; 

But  as  they  moaned  and  swounded  there  too  numer 
ous  to  relate, 

Kyng  Arthure  and  Sir  Launcelot  stode  at  ye  city 
gate, 

And  at  eche  side  and  round  about  stode  many  a 
noblesse  knyght 

With  helm  and  speare  and  sworde  and  shield  and 
mickle  valor  dight. 

Anon  there  came  a  straunger,  but  not  a  gyaunt  grim, 
Nor  yet  a  draggon,  —  but  a  person  gangling,  long, 

and  slim  ; 
Yclad  he  was  in  guise  that  ill-beseemed  those  knygtly 

days, 

And  there  ben  nony  etiquette  in  his  uplandish  ways ; 
His  raiment  was  of  dusty  gray,  and  perched  above 

his  lugs 
There  ben  the  very  latest  style  of  blacke  and  shiny 

pluggs  ; 
His  nose  ben  like  a  vulture  beake,  his  blie  ben  swart 

of  hue, 


A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL    OF  CAME  LOT.       137 

And  curly  ben  ye  whiskers  through  ye  which  ye 

zephyrs  blewe ; 

Of  all  ye  een  that  ben  yseene  in  countries  far  or  nigh, 
None  nonywhere   colde    hold   compare   unto   that 

straunger's  eye; 
It  was  an  eye  of  soche  a  kind  as  never  ben  on 

sleepe, 
Nor  did  it  gleam  with  kindly  beanie,  nor  did  not 

use  to  weepe ; 
But  soche  an  eye  ye  widdow  hath,  —  an  hongrey  eye 

and  wan, 
That  spyeth  for  an  oder  chaunce  whereby  she  may 

catch  on ; 
An  eye  that  winketh  of  itself,  and  sayeth  by  that 

winke 
Ye  which  a  maiden  sholde  not  knowe  nor  never  even 

thinke ; 
Which  winke  ben  more  exceeding  swift  nor  human 

thought  ben  thunk, 
And  leaveth  doubting  if  so  be  that  winke  ben  really 

wunke ; 
And  soch  an  eye  ye  catte-fysshe  hath  when  that  he 

ben  on  dead 
And  boyled  a  goodly  time  and  served  with  capers 

on  his  head; 


I38       A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL    OF  CAME  LOT, 

A  rayless  eye,  a  bead-like  eye,  whose  famisht  aspect 

shows 
It  hungereth  for  ye  verdant  banks  whereon  ye  wild 

time  grows  ; 
An  eye  that  hawketh  up  and  down  for  evereche  kind 

of  game, 
And,  when  he  doth  espy  ye  which,  he  tumbleth  to 

ye  same. 

Now  when  he  kenned  Sir  Launcelot  in  armor  clad, 

he  quod, 
"Another    put-a-nickel-in-and-see-me-work,   be 

god ! " 
But  when  that  he  was  ware  a  man  ben  standing  in 

that  suit, 
Ye  straunger  threw  up  both  his  hands,  and  asked 

him  not  to  shoote. 


Then  spake  Kyng  Arthure  :  "  If  soe  be  you  mind  to 

do  no  ill, 
Come,  enter  into  Camelot,  and  eat  and  drink  your 

fill; 
But  say  me  first  what  you  are  hight,  and  what 

mought  be  your  quest. 


A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL   OF  CAMELOT.       139 

Ye  straunger  quod,  "  I  'm  five  feet  ten,  and  fare  me 

from  ye  West !  " 
"  Sir  Fivefeetten,"  Kyng  Arthure  said,  "  I  bid  you 

welcome  here  ; 
So  make  you  merrie  as  you  list  with  plaisaunt  wine 

and  cheere ; 
This  very  night  shall  be  a  feast  soche  like  ben  never 

scene, 
And  you  shall  be  ye  honored  guest  of  Arthure  and 

his  queene. 
Now  take  him,  good  sir  Maligraunce,  and  entertain 

him  well 
Until  soche  time  as  he  becomes  our  guest,  as  I  you 

tell." 

That  night  Kyng  Arthure's  table  round  with  mighty 

care  ben  spread, 
Ye  oder  knyghts  sate  all  about,  and  Arthure  at  ye 

heade : 

Oh, 'twas  a  goodly  spectacle  token  that  noblesse  liege 
Dispensing  hospitality  from  his  commanding  siege  ! 
Ye  pheasant  and  ye  meate  of  boare,  ye  haunch  of 

velvet  doe, 
Ye  canvass  hamme  he  them  did  serve,  and  many 

good  things  moe. 


A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL   OF  CAMELOT. 

Until  at  last  Kyng  Arthure  cried :  "  Let  bring  my 
wassail  cup, 

And  let  ye  sound  of  joy  go  round,  —  I  'm  going  to 
set  'em  up  ! 

I  Ve  pipes  of  Malmsey,  May-wine,  sack,  metheglon, 
mead,  and  sherry, 

Canary,  Malvoisie,  and  Port,  swete  Muscadelle  and 
perry ; 

Rochelle,  Osey,  and  Romenay,  Tyre,  Rhenish,  pos 
set  too, 

With  kags  and  pails  of  foaming  ales  of  brown  Octo 
ber  brew. 

To  wine  and  beer  and  other  cheere  I  pray  you  now 
despatch  ye, 

And  for  ensample,  wit  ye  well,  sweet  sirs,  I  'm  look 
ing  at  ye ! " 

Unto  which  toast  of  their  liege  lord  ye  oders  in  ye 

party 
Did  lout  them  low  in  humble  wise  and  bid  ye  same 

drink  hearty. 
So   then   ben    merrisome   discourse    and    passing 

plaisaunt  cheere, 
And  Arthure's  tales  of  hippogriffs  ben  mervaillous 

to  heare; 


A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL   OF  CAME  LOT.       14! 

But  stranger  far  than  any  tale  told  of  those  knyghts 

of  old 
Ben  those  facetious  narratives  ye  Western  straunger 

told. 
He  told  them  of  a  country  many  leagues  beyond  ye 


sea 


Where  evereche  forraine  nuisance  but  ye  Chinese 

man  ben  free, 
And  whiles  he  span  his  monstrous  yarns,  ye  ladies 

of  ye  court 
Did  deem  ye  listening  thereunto  to  be  right  plais- 

aunt  sport; 
And  whiles  they  listened,  often  he  did  squeeze  a 

lily  hande,  — 
Ye  which  proceeding  ne'er  before   ben  done   in 

Arthure's  lande; 
And  often  wank  a  sidelong  wink  with  either  roving 

eye, 
Whereat  ye  ladies  laughen  so  that  they  had  like  to 

die. 
But  of  ye  damosels  that  sat  around  Kyng  Arthure's 

table 
He  liked  not  her  that  sometime  ben  ron  over  by  ye 

cable, 


142       A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL   OF  CAME  LOT. 

Ye  which  full  evil  hap  had  harmed  and  marked  her 

person  so 
That  in  a  passing  wittie  jest  he  dubbeth  her  ye  crow. 

But  all  ye  oders  of  ye  girls  did  please  him  passing 

well 
And  they  did  own  him  for  to  be  a  proper  seeming 

swell ; 
And  in  especial  Gurnevere  esteemed  him  wondrous 

faire, 
Which    had    made   Arthure    and    his    friend,   Sir 

Launcelot,  to  sware 
But  that  they  both  ben  so  far   gone  with   posset, 

wine,  and  beer, 
They  colde   not    see  ye  carrying-on,   nor   neither 

colde  not  heare ; 
For  of  eche  liquor  Arthure  quafft,  and  so  did  all 

ye  rest, 
Save   only  and   excepting  that  smooth   straunger 

from  the  West. 
When  as  these  oders  drank  a  toast,  he  let  them 

have  their  fun 
With   divers    godless    mixings,   but  he    stock    to 

willow  run, 


A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL    OF  CAMELOT.        143 

Ye  which  (and  all  that  reade  these  words  sholde 
profit  by  ye  warning) 

Doth  never  make  ye  head  to  feel  like  it  ben 
swelled  next  morning. 

Now,  wit  ye  well,  it  so  befell  that  when  the  night 
grew  dim, 

Ye  Kyng  was  carried  from  ye  hall  with  a  howl 
ing  jag  on  him, 

Whiles  Launcelot  and  all  ye  rest  that  to  his 
highness  toadied 

Withdrew  them  from  ye  banquet  hall  and  sought 
their  couches  loaded. 

Now,  lithe   and   listen,   lordings    all,  whiles    I    do 

call  it  shame 
That,  making  cheer  with  wine  and  beer,  men  do 

abuse  ye  same ; 
Though    eche  be  well   enow  alone,  ye    mixing    of 

ye  two 

Ben  soche  a  piece  of  foolishness  as  only  ejiots  do. 
Ye  wine  is  plaisaunt  bibbing  whenas  ye  gentles  dine, 
And  beer  will  do  if  one  hath  not  ye  wherewithal 

for  wine, 
But  in  ye  drinking  of  ye  same  ye  wise  are  never 

floored 


144      A    PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL   OF  CAMELOT. 

By  taking  what  ye  tipplers  call  too  big  a  jag  on 

board. 
Right  hejeous  is  it  for  to  see  soche  dronkonness 

of  wine 
Whereby  some  men   are  use  to  make  themselves 

to  be  like  swine ; 
And  sorely  it  repenteth  them,  for  when  they  wake 

next  day 
Ye  fearful  paynes   they  suffer  ben   soche  as  none 

mought  say, 
And  soche  ye  brenning  in  ye  throat  and  brasting 

of  ye  head 
And  soche   ye  taste  within    ye   mouth   like  one 

had  been  on  dead, — 
Soche  be  ye  foul   condicions  that  these  unhappy 

men 
Sware    they  will   never    drink   no   drop   of  nony 

drinke  again. 
Yet    all    so    frail     and   vain    a   thing  and    weak 

withal  is  man 
That  he  goeth  on  an  oder  tear  whenever  that  he 

can. 
And  like   ye    evil   quatern   or   ye  hills   that   skirt 

ye  skies, 
Ye  jag  is  reproductive  and  jags  on  jags  arise. 


A    PROPER    TREWE   IDYLL   OF  CAME  LOT.       145 

Whenas    Aurora   from    ye  east  in  dewy  splendor 

hied 
King   Arthure  dreemed   he  saw  a  snaix  and    ben 

on  fire  inside, 
And   waking  from   this   hejeous  dreeme  he   sate 

him  up  in  bed,  — 
"  What,  ho  !    an   absynthe    cocktail,    knave !    and 

make  it  strong  !  "  he  said  ; 
Then,  looking  down  beside  him,  lo !  his  lady  was 

not  there  — 
He  called,  he   searched,  but,  Goddis  wounds !  he 

found  her  nony where; 
And  whiles  he  searched,  Sir   Maligraunce  rashed 

in,  wood  wroth,  and  cried, 
"  Methinketh  that  ye  straunger  knyght  hath  snuck 

away  my  bride  ! 
And   whiles  he   spake   a    motley   score  of   other 

knyghts  brast  in 

And  filled  ye  royall   chamber  with  a  mickle  fear- 
full  din, 
For   evereche  one   had    lost    his  wiffe    nor   colde 

not  spye  ye  same, 
Nor   colde    not    spye    ye    straunger    knyght,    Sir 

Fivefeetten  of  name. 
10 


14         A   PROPER    TREWE  IDYLL    OF  CAME  LOT. 

Oh,  then  and  there  was  grevious  lamentacion  all 

arounde, 
For    nony   dame    nor    damosel    in    Camelot   ben 

found,  — 
Gone,  like  ye  forest    leaves  that  speed   afore  ye 

autumn  wind. 
Of   all   ye  ladies  of   that    court  not   one  ben  left 

behind 
Save  only  that  same  damosel  ye  straunger  called 

ye  crow, 
And  she    allowed  with  moche  regret  she  ben  too 

lame  to   go ; 
And  when  that  she  had  wept  full  sore,  to  Arthure 

she  confess 'd 
That  Guernevere  had    left  this  word  for  Arthure 

and  ye  rest: 
"Tell  them,"  she  quod,  "we  shall  return  to  them 

whenas  we  've  made 
This  little  deal  we  have  with  ye  Chicago  Bourde 

of  Trade." 


BERANGEK  'S   "  MA    VOCA  TION."  I  4  7 


BfiRANGER'S    "MA  VOCATION." 


A/TISERY  is  my  lot, 

Poverty  and  pain ; 
111  was  I  begot, 

111  must  I  remain ; 
Yet  the  wretched  days 

One  sweet  comfort  bring, 
When  God  whispering  says, 

"  Sing,  O  singer,  sing  ! " 

Chariots  rumble  by, 

Splashing  me  with  mud ; 
Insolence  see  I 

Fawn  to  royal  blood ; 
Solace  have  I  then 

From  each  galling  sting 
In  that  voice  again,  — 

"  Sing.  O  singer,  sing  !  " 


148  BERANGER'S  "MA    VOCATION." 

Cowardly  at  heart, 

I  am  forced  to  play 
A  degraded  part 

For  its  paltry  pay  ; 
Freedom  is  a  prize 

For  no  starving  thing  \ 
Yet  that  small  voice  cries, 

"  Sing,  O  singer,  sing  !  " 

I  was  young,  but  now, 

When  I  'm  old  and  gray, 
Love  —  I  know  not  how 

Or  why  —  hath  sped  away ; 
Still,  in  winter  days 

As  in  hours  of  spring, 
Still  a  whisper  says, 

"  Sing,  O  singer,  sing  ! " 

Ah,  too  well  I  know 

Song  's  my  only  friend  ! 
Patiently  I  '11  go 

Singing  to  the  end  ; 
Comrades,  to  your  wine  ! 

Let  your  glasses  ring  ! 
Lo,  that  voice  divine 

Whispers,  "Sing,  oh,  sing!" 


CHILD  AND   MOTHER.  149 


CHILD   AND    MOTHER. 

MOTHER-MY-LOVE,  if  you  '11  give  me 

your  hand, 
And  go  where  I  ask  you  to  wander, 
I  will  lead  you  away  to  a  beautiful  land,  — 

The  Dreamland  that 's  waiting  out  yonder. 
We  '11  walk  in  a  sweet  posie-garden  out  there, 

Where  moonlight  and  starlight  are  streaming, 
And  the  flowers  and  the  birds  are  filling  the  air 
With  the  fragrance  and  music  of  dreaming. 

There  '11  be  no  little  tired-out  boy  to  undress, 

No  questions  or  cares  to  perplex  you, 
There  '11  be  no  little  bruises  or  bumps  to  caress, 

Nor  patching  of  stockings  to  vex  you  ; 
For  I  '11  rock  you  away  on  a  silver-dew  stream 

And  sing  you  asleep  when  you  're  weary, 
And  no  one  shall  know  of  our  beautiful  dream 

But  you  and  your  own  little  dearie. 


I5O  CHILD  AND  MOTHER. 

And  when  I  am  tired  I  '11  nestle  my  head 

In  the  bosom  that's  soothed  me  so  often, 
And  the  wide-awake  stars  shall  sing,  in  my  stead, 

A  song  which  our  dreaming  shall  soften. 
So,  Mother-my-Love,  let  me  take  your  dear  hand, 

And  away  through  the  starlight  we  '11  wander,  — 
Away  through  the  mist  to  the  beautiful  land,  — 

The  Dreamland  that 's  waiting  out  yonder. 


THE   CONVERSAZZHYONY. 


THE   CONVERSAZZHYONY. 

"\  T  THAT  conversazzhyonies  wuz  I  really  did  not 

*       know, 
For  that,  you  must  remember,  wuz  a  powerful  spell 

ago; 

The  camp  wuz  new  'nd  noisy,  'nd  only  modrit  sized, 
So  fashionable  sossiety  wuz  hardly  crystallized. 
There  had  n't  been  no  grand  events  to  interest  the 

men, 
But  a  lynchin',  or  a  inquest,  or  a  jackpot  now  an' 

then. 
The  wimmin-folks  wuz  mighty  scarce,  for  wimmin', 

ez  a  rool, 
Don't  go  to  Colorado  much,  excep'  for  teachin' 

school, 

An'  bein'  scarce  an'  chipper  and  pretty  (like  as  not), 
The  bachelors  perpose,  'nd  air  accepted  on  the 

spot. 


152  THE   CONVERSAZZHYONY. 

Now  Sorry  Tom  wuz  owner  uv  the  Gosh-all-H em- 
lock  mine, 
The  wich  allowed  his  better  haff  to  dress  all-fired 

fine  ; 
For  Sorry  Tom  wuz  mighty  proud  uv  her,  an'  she 

uv  him, 
Though  she  wuz  short  an'  tacky,  an'  he  wuz  tall  an' 

slim, 

An'  she  wuz  edjicated,  an'  Sorry  Tom  wuz  not, 
Yet,  for  her  sake,  he  'd  whack  up  every  cussid  cent 

he  'd  got ! 

Waal,  jest  by  way  uv  celebratin'  matrimonial  joys, 
She  thought  she  'd  give  a  conversazzhyony  to  the 

boys,  — 

A  peert  an'  likely  lady,  'nd  ez  full  uv  'cute  idees 
'Nd  uv  etiquettish   notions   ez  a  fyste  is  full  uv 

fleas. 

Three-fingered   Hoover  kind   uv  kicked,  an'  said 

they  might  be  durned 

So  fur  ez  any  conversazzhyony  wuz  concerned  ; 
He  *d  come  to  Red  Hoss  Mountain  to  tunnel  for 

the  ore, 
An'  not  to  go  to  parties,  —  quite  another  kind  uv 

bore  ! 


THg   CQNVERSAZZHYONY.  153 

But,  bein'  he  wuz  candidate  for  marshal  uv  the 

camp, 
I  rayther  had  the  upper  halts  in  arguin'  with  the 

scamp ; 
Sez  I,  "Three-fingered  Hoover,  can't  ye  see  it  is 

yer  game 
To  go  for  all  the  votes  ye  kin  an'  collar  uy  the 

same  ?  " 
The  wich  perceivin',  Hoover  sez,  "  Waal,  ef  I  must, 

I  must j 
So    I  '11    frequent    that    conversazzhyony,    ef    I 

bust!" 

Three-fingered  Hoover  wuz  a  trump  !    Ez  fine  a 

man  wuz  he 
Ez  ever  caused  an   inquest  or  blossomed  on  a 

tree!  — 
A  big,  broad  man,  whose  face  bespoke  a  honest 

heart  within,  — 
With  a  bunch  uv  yaller  whiskers  appertainin'  to 

his  chin, 
'Nd  a  fierce  mustache  turnt  up  so  fur  that  both  his 

ears  wuz  hid, 
Like  the  picture  that  you  always  see  in  the  "  Life 

uv  Cap'n  Kidd." 


154  THE  CONVERSAZZHYONY. 

His  hair  wuz  long  an'  wavy  an'  fine  ez  Southdown 

fleece,  — 
Oh,  it  shone  an'  smelt  like  Eden  when  he  slicked 

it  down  with  grease ! 
I  '11  bet  there  wuz  n't  anywhere  a  man,  all  round,  ez 

fine 
Ez  wuz  Three-fingered  Hoover  in  the  spring  uv  '69 ! 

The  conversazzhyony  wuz  a  notable  affair, 

The  bong  tong  deckolett  'nd  en  regaly  bein'  there-, 

The  ranch  where  Sorry  Tom  hung  out  wuz  fitted 

up  immense,  — 

The    Denver  papers    called  it  a   "palashal  resi 
dence." 
There  wuz  mountain  pines  an'  fern  an'  flowers 

a-hangin'  on  the  walls, 
An'  cheers  an'  hoss-hair  sofies  wuz  a-settin'  in  the 

halls  ; 
An'  there  wuz  heaps  uv  pictures  uv  folks  that  lived 

down  East, 
Sech  ez  poets  an'  perfessers,  an'  last,  but  not  the 

least, 
Wuz  a  chromo  uv  old  Fremont,  —  we  liked  that 

best,  you  bet, 
For  there  's  lots  uv  us  old  miners  that  is  votin'  for 

him  yet ! 


THE   CONVERSAZZHYONY.  155 

When  Sorry  Tom  received  the  gang  perlitely  at  the 

door, 
He  said  that  keerds  would  be  allowed  upon  the 

second  floor ; 
And  then  he  asked  us  would  we  like  a  drop  uv  ody 

vee. 
Connivin'  at  his  meanin',  we  responded  promptly, 

"  Wee." 
A    conversazzhyony    is    a    thing    where    people 

speak 
The  langwidge  in  the  which  they  air  partickulerly 

weak : 
"  I  see,"  sez  Sorry  Tom,  "  you  grasp  what  that  'ere 

lingo  means." 
"  You  bet  yer  boots,"  sez  Hoover ;  "  I  Ve  lived  at 

Noo  Orleens, 
An',  though  I  aint  no  Frenchie,  nor  kin  unto  the 

same, 
I  kin  parly  voo,  an'  git  there,  too,  like  Eli,  toot  lee 

mame ! " 

As  speakin'  French  wuz  not  my  forte,  —  not  even 

oovry  poo, — 
I  stuck  to  keerds  ez  played  by  them  ez  did  not 

parly  voo, 


156  THE  CONVERSAZZHYONY. 

An'  bein'  how  that  poker  wuz  my  most  perficient 

game, 

I  poneyed  up  for  20  blues  an'  set  into  the  same. 
Three-fingered  Hoover  stayed  behind  an'  parly- 

vood  so  well 
That  all  the  kramy  delly  krame  allowed  he  wuz 

the  belle. 
The  other  candidate  for  marshal  did  n't  have  a 

show ; 
For,  while  Three-fingered  Hoover  parlyed,  ez  they 

said,  tray  bow, 
Bill  Goslin  did  n't  know  enough  uv  French  to  git 

along, 
'Nd  I  reckon  that  he  had  what  folks  might  call  a 

movy  tong. 

From  Denver  they  had  freighted  up  a  real  pianny- 

fort 
Uv  the  warty-leg   and  pearl-around-the-keys-an'- 

kivver  sort, 

An',  later  in  the  evenin',  Perfesser  Vere  de  Blaw 
Performed  on  that  pianny,  with  considerble  eclaw, 
Sech  high-toned  opry  airs  ez  one  is  apt  to  hear, 

you  know, 
When  he  rounds  up  down  to  Denver  at  a  Emmy 

Abbitt  show; 


THE  CONVERSAZZHYONY.  157 

An'  Barber  Jim  (a  talented  but  ornery  galoot) 
Discoursed  a  obligatter,  conny  mory,  on  the  floot, 
'Til  we,  ez  sot  upstairs  indulgin'  in  a  quiet  game, 
Conveyed  to  Barber  Jim  our  wish  to  compromise 
the  same. 

The  maynoo  that  wuz  spread  that  night  wuz  mighty 

hard  to  beat,  — 
Though  somewhat  awkward  to  pernounce,  it  wuz 

not  so  to  eat : 
There  wuz  puddins,  pies,  an'  sandwidges,  an'  forty 

kinds  uv  sass, 
An'  floatin'  Irelands,  custards,  tarts,  an'  patty  dee 

foy  grass ; 
An'  millions  uv  cove  oysters  wuz  a-settin'  round  in 

pans, 
'Nd  other  native  fruits  an'  things  that  grow  out 

West  in  cans. 
But  I  wuz   all  kufflummuxed  when  Hoover  said 

he'd  choose 

"  Oon  peety  morso,  see  voo  play,  de  la  cette  Char 
lotte  Rooze ;  " 
I  'd  knowed  Three-fingered  Hoover  for  fifteen  years 

or  more, 
'Nd  I  'd  never  heern  him  speak  so  light  uv  wimmin 

folks  before ! 


158  THE   CONVERSAZZHYONY. 

Bill  Goslin  heern  him  say  it,  'nd  uv  course  he 
spread  the  news 

Uv  how  Three-fingered  Hoover  had  insulted  Char 
lotte  Rooze 

At  the  conversazzhyony  down  at  Sorry  Tom's  that 
night, 

An'  when  they  asked  me,  I  allowed  that  Bill  for 
once  wuz  right; 

Although  it  broke  my  heart  to  see  my  friend  go 
up  the  fluke, 

We  all  opined  his  treatment  uv  the  girl  deserved 
rebuke. 

It  warnt  no  use  for  Sorry  Tom  to  nail  it  for  a 

lie,— 
When  it  come  to  sassin'  wimmin,  there  wuz  blood 

in  every  eye ; 
The  boom  for  Charlotte  Rooze  swep'  on  an'  took 

the  polls  by  storm, 
An'  so  Three -fingered   Hoover  fell   a   martyr  to 

reform  ! 

Three-fingered  Hoover  said  it  wuz  a  terrible  mis 
take, 

An'  when  the  votes  wuz  in,  he  cried  ez  if  his  heart 
would  break. 


THE   CONVERSAZZHYONY.  159 

We  never  knew  who  Charlotte  wuz,  but  Goslin's 

brother  Dick 
Allowed  she  wuz  the  teacher  from  the  camp  on 

Roarin'  Crick, 
That  had  come  to  pass  some  foreign  tongue  with 

them  uv  our  alite 
Ez  wuz  at  the  high-toned  party  down  at   Sorry 

Tom's  that  night. 
We  let  it  drop  —  this  matter  uv  the  lady  —  there 

an'  then, 
An'  we  never  heerd,  nor  wanted  to,  of  Charlotte 

Rooze  again, 
An'  the   Colorado  wimmin-folks,  ez  like  ez  not, 

don't  know 
How  we  vindicated  all   their  sex  a  twenty  year 

ago. 

For  in  these  wondrous  twenty  years  has  come  a 

mighty  change, 
An'  most  uv  them  old  pioneers  have  gone  acrosst 

the  range, 
Way  out  into  the  silver  land  beyond  the  peaks  uv 

snow,  — 
The   land  uv  rest  an'  sunshine,  where  all  good 

miners  go. 


160  THE   CONYERSAZZHYONY. 

I  reckon  that  they  love  to  look,  from  out  the  silver 

haze, 
Upon  that  God's  own  country  where  they  spent 

sech  happy  days ; 
Upon  the  noble  cities  that  have  risen  since  they 

went ; 
Upon  the  camps  an'  ranches  that  are  prosperous 

an'  content ; 
An',  best  uv  all,  upon  those  hills  that  reach  into 

the  air, 
Ez  if  to  clasp  the  loved  ones  that  are  waitin'  over 

there. 


PROF.  VERB  DE  BLAlf.         l6l 


PROF.  VERE   DE   BLAW. 

A  CHIEVIN'  sech   distinction  with  his  moddel 

tabble  dote 
Ez  to  make  his  Red  Hoss  Mountain  restauraw  a 

place  uv  note, 
Our  old  friend  Casey  innovated  somewhat  round 

the  place, 
In  hopes  he  would  ameliorate  the  sufferins  uv  the 

race; 

'Nd  uv  the  many  features  Casey  managed  to  im 
port 
The  most  important  wuz  a  Steenway  gran'  pianny- 

fort, 
An'  bein'  there  wuz  nobody  could  play  upon  the 

same, 
He  telegraffed    to   Denver,    'nd   a   real    perfesser 

came,  — 

ii 


1 62  PROF.    VERE  DE   BLAW. 

The  last    an'   crownin'   glory   uv  the    Casey  res- 

tauraw 
Wuz  that  tenderfoot  musicianer,  Perfesser  Vere  de 

Blaw! 

His  hair  wuz  long  an'  dishybill,  an'  he  had  a  yaller 

skin, 
An'  the  absence  uv  a  collar  made  his  neck  look 

powerful  thin : 

A  sorry  man  he  wuz  to  see,  az  mebby  you  'd  sur 
mise, 
But  the  fire   uv  inspiration  wuz  a-blazin'  in  his 

eyes  ! 
His  name  wuz  Blanc,  wich  same  is  Blaw  (for  that 's 

what  Casey  said, 
An'   Casey   passed   the    French   ez   well   ez   any 

Frenchie  bred); 
But  no  one  ever  reckoned  that  it  really  wuz  his 

name, 
An'  no  one  ever  asked  him  how  or  why  or  whence 

he  came,  — 
Your  ancient   history  is    a  thing  the   Coloradan 

hates, 
An'  no  one  asks  another  what  his  name  wuz  in  the 

States ! 


PROF.  VERE  DE  BLAW.         163 

At  evenin',  when  the  work  wuz  done,  an'  the  miners 

rounded  up 
At  Casey's,  to  indulge  in  keerds  or  linger  with  the 

cup, 
Or   dally  with   the   tabble  dote   in  all  its  native 

glory, 

Perfesser  Vere  de  Blaw  discoursed  his  music  reper 
tory 
Upon  the  Steenway  gran'  piannyfort,  the  wich  wuz 

sot 
In  the  hallway  near  the  kitchen  (a  warm  but  quiet 

spot), 
An'  when   De   Blaw's   environments   induced  the 

proper  pride,  — 
Wich  gen'rally  wuz  whiskey  straight,  with  seltzer 

on  the  side,  — 
He  throwed  his  soulful  bein'  into  opry  airs  'nd 

things 
Wich  bounded  to  the  ceilin'  like  he  'd  mesmerized 

the  strings. 

Oh,  you  that  live  in  cities  where  the  gran'  piannies 

grow, 
An*  primy  donnies  round  up,  it's  little  that  you 

know 


164  PROF.    VERB  DE  BLAW. 

Uv  the  hungerin'  an'  the  yearnin'  wich  us  miners 

an'  the  rest 
Feel  for  the   songs  we   used   to   hear  before  we 

moved  out  West. 
Yes,  memory  is  a  pleasant  thing,  but  it  weakens 

mighty  quick ; 

It  kind  uv  dries  an'  withers,  like  the  windin'  moun 
tain  crick, 
That,  beautiful,  an'  singin'  songs,  goes  dancin'  to 

the  plains, 
So  long  ez  it  is  fed  by  snows  an'  watered  by  the 

rains  ; 
But,  uv  that  grace  uv  luvin'  rains  'nd  mountain 

snows  bereft, 
Its  bleachin'  rocks,  like  dummy  ghosts,  is  all  its 

memory  left. 

The  toons  wich  the  perfesser  would  perform  with 

sech  eclaw 
Would  melt  the  toughest  mountain  gentleman  I 

ever  saw,  — 
Sech     touchin'    opry    music     ez    the     Trovytory 

sort, 
The  sollum  "  Mizer  Reery,"  an'  the  thrillin'  "  Keely 

Mort ; " 


PROF.  VERB  DE  BLAW.         165 

Or,  sometimes,  from  "  Lee  Grond  Dooshess "  a 
trifle  he  would  play, 

Or  morsoze  from  a  opry  boof,  to  drive  dull  care 
away ; 

Or,  feelin'  kind  uv  serious,  he  'd  discourse  some 
what  in  C,  — 

The  wich  he  called  a  opus  (whatever  that  may 
be); 

But  the  toons  that  fetched  the  likker  from  the 
critics  in  the  crowd 

Wuz  not  the  high-toned  ones,  Perfesser  Vere  de 
Blaw  allowed. 

'Twuz  "Dearest  May,"  an'  "Bonnie  Boon,"  an' 

the  ballard  uv  "Ben  Bolt," 
Ez  wuz  regarded  by  all  odds  ez  Vere  de  Blaw's 

best  holt; 
Then  there  wuz  "  Darlin'  Nellie  Gray,"  an'  "  Settin' 

on  the  Stile," 
An'  "  Seein'  Nellie  Home,"  an'  "  Nancy  Lee,"  'nd 

"Annie  Lisle," 
An'  "  Silver  Threads  among  the  Gold,"  an'  "  The 

Gal  that  Winked  at  Me," 
An'  "  Gentle  Annie,"  "  Nancy  Till,"  an'  "  The  Cot 

beside  the  Sea." 


1 66  PROF.    VERE  DE  BLAH*. 

Your  opry  airs  is  good  enough  for  them  ez  likes 

to  pay 
Their  money  for  the  truck  ez  can't  be  got  no  other 

way ; 

But  opry  to  a  miner  is  a  thin  an'  holler  thing, — 
The  music  that  he  pines  for  is  the  songs  he  used 

to  sing. 

One  evenin'  down  at  Casey's  De  Blaw  wuz  at  his 
best, 

With  four-fingers  uv  old  Wilier-run  concealed  be 
neath  his  vest; 

The  boys  wuz  settin'  all  around,  discussin'  folks 
an'  things, 

'Nd  I  had  drawed  the  necessary  keerds  to  fill  on 
kings  ; 

Three-fingered  Hoover  kind  uv  leaned  acrosst  the 
bar  to  say 

If  Casey  'd  liquidate  right  off,  he  "*d  liquidate  next 
day; 

A  sperrit  uv  contentment  wuz  a-broodin'  all  around 

(Onlike  the  other  sperrits  wich  in  restauraws 
abound), 

When,  suddenly,  we  heerd  from  yonder  kitchen- 
entry  rise 


PROF,  VERB  DE  BLAW.         167 

A  toon  each  ornery  galoot  appeared  to  recognize. 
Perfesser  Vere  de   Blaw  for   once   eschewed   his 

opry  ways, 
An'  the  remnants  uv  his  mind  went  back  to  earlier, 

happier  days, 
An'  grappled  like  an'  wrassled  with  a  old  familiar 

air 
The  wich  we  all  uv  us  had  heern,  ez  you  have, 

everywhere  ! 
Stock   still  we  stopped,  —  some  in  their  talk   uv 

politics  an'  things, 

I  in  my  unobtrusive  attempt  to  fill  on  kings, 
'Nd  Hoover  leanin'  on  the  bar,  an'  Casey  at  the 

till,  — 
We  all  stopped  short  an'  held  our  breaths  (ez  a 

feller  sometimes  will), 
An'  sot  there  more  like  bumps  on  logs  than  healthy, 

husky  men, 
Ez  the  memories  uv  that  old,  old  toon  come  sneakin7 

back  again. 

You've  guessed  it?  No,  you  have  n't;  for  it  wuzn't 
that  there  song 

Uv  the  home  we  'd  been  away  from  an*  had  hank 
ered  for  so  long,  — 


1 68  PROF.    VERB  DE  BLAW. 

No,  sir ;  it  wuz  n't  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  though 

it 's  always  heard  around 
Sech  neighborhoods  in  wich  the  home  that  is  "sweet 

home  "  is  found. 
And,  ez  for  me,  I  seemed  to  see  the  past  come  back 

again, 

And  hear  the  deep-drawed  sigh  my  sister  Lucy  ut 
tered  when 
Her  mother  asked  her  if  she'd  practised  her  two 

hours  that  day, 
Wich,  if  she  had  n't,  she  must  go  an'  do  it  right 

away ! 
The  homestead  in  the  States  'nd  all  its  memories 

seemed  to  come 
A-floatin'  round  about  me  with  that  magic  lumty- 

tum. 

And  then  uprose  a  stranger  wich  had  struck  the 

camp  that  night; 
His  eyes  wuz  sot  an'  fireless,  'nd  his  face  wuz  spook- 

ish  white, 
'Nd  he  sez  :  "  Oh,  how  I  suffer  there  is  nobody  kin 

say, 
Onless,  like  me,  he  's  wrenched  himself  from  home 

an'  friends  away 


PROF.  VERE  DE  BLAW.         169 

To  seek  surcease  from  sorrer  in  a  fur,  seclooded 

spot, 
Only  to  find  —  alars,  too  late  !  —  the  wich  surcease 

is  not ! 
Only  to  find  that  there  air  things  that,  somehow, 

seem  to  live 
For  nothin'  in  the  world  but  jest  the  misery  they 

give! 
I  've  travelled  eighteen  hundred  miles,  but  that  toon 

has  got  here  first ; 
I  'm  done,  —  I  'm  blowed,  —  I  welcome  death,  an' 

bid  it  do  its  worst ! " 

Then,  like  a  man  whose  mind  wuz  sot  on  yieldin' 
to  his  fate, 

He  waltzed  up  to  the  counter  an'  demanded  whis 
key  straight, 

Wich  havin'  got  outside  uv,  —  both  the  likker  and 
the  door,  — 

We  never  seen  that  stranger  in  the  bloom  uv  health 
no  more ! 

But  some  months  later,  what  the  birds  had  left  uv 
him  wuz  found 

Associated  with  a  tree,  some  distance  from  the 
ground ; 


17°         PROF.  VERE  DE  BLAW. 

And  Husky  Sam,  the  coroner,  that  set  upon  him, 

said 
That  two  things  wuz   apparent,  namely  :  first,  de- 

ceast  wuz  dead  ; 
And,  second,  previously  had  got  involved  beyond 

all  hope 
In  a  knotty  complication  with  a  yard  or  two  uv 


MEDIAEVAL  EVENTIDE  SONG. 


MEDIAEVAL  EVENTIDE   SONG. 


hither,  lyttel  childe,  and  lie  upon  my 

breast  to-night, 
For   yonder   fares   an  angell   yclad   in   raimaunt 

white, 

And  yonder  sings  ye  angell  as  onely  angells  may, 
And  his   songe   ben   of  a  garden  that  bloometh 

farre  awaye. 

To  them  that  have  no  lyttel  childe  Godde  some 

times  sendeth  down 

A  lyttel  childe  that  ben  a  lyttel  lambkyn  of  his  owne  ; 
And  if  so  bee  they  love  that  childe,  He  willeth  it 

to  staye, 
But  elsewise,  in  His  mercie  He  taketh  it  awaye. 

And  sometimes,  though  they  love  it,  Godde  yearn- 

eth  for  ye  childe, 
And  sendeth  angells  singing,  whereby  it  ben  be 

guiled  ; 

i 


I72  MEDIEVAL   EVENTIDE  SONG. 

They  fold  their  arms  about  ye  lamb  that  croodleth 

at  his  play, 
And  beare  him  to  ye  garden  that  bloometh  farre 

awaye. 

I  wolde  not  lose  ye  lyttel  lamb  that  Godde  hath 

lent  to  me ; 
If  I  colde  sing  that  angell  songe,  how  joysome  I 

sholde  bee ! 
For,  with  mine  arms  about  him,  and  my  musick  in 

his  eare, 
What  angell  songe  of  paradize  soever  sholde  I 

f eare  ? 

Soe  come,  my  lyttel  childe,  and  lie  upon  my  breast 

to-night, 

For  yonder  fares  an  angell  yclad  in  raimaunt  white, 
And  yonder  sings  that  angell,  as  onely  angells  may, 
And  his  songe  ben  of  a  garden  that  bloometh  farre 

awaye. 


MARTHY'S   YOUNKIT.  173 


MARTHY'S   YOUNKIT. 

f~T*HE    mountain  brook   sung  lonesomelike,  and 

loitered  on  its  way 

Ez  if  it  waited  for  a  child  to  jine  it  in  its  play ; 
The  wild-flowers  uv  the  hillside  bent  down  their 

heads  to  hear 
The  music  uv  the  little  feet  that  had  somehow 

grown  so  dear ; 
The  magpies,  like  winged  shadders,  wuz  a-flutterin' 

to  an'  fro 
Among  the  rocks  an'  holler  stumps  in  the  ragged 

gulch  below; 
The  pines  an'  hemlocks  tosst  their  boughs  (like 

they  wuz  arms)  and  made 
Soft,  sollum  music  on  the  slope  where  he   had 

often  played ; 

But  for  these  lonesome,  sollum  voices  on  the  moun 
tain-side, 
There  wuz  no  sound  the  summer  day  that  Marthy's 

younkit  died. 


174  MARTHAS   YOUNKIT. 

We  called  him  Marthy's  younkit,  for  Marthy  wuz 

the  name 
Uv  her  ez  wuz  his  mar,  the  wife  uv  Sorry  Tom, — 

the  same 
Ez  taught  the  school-house  on  the  hill,  way  back 

in  '69, 
When   she   marr'd    Sorry  Tom,  wich   owned  the 

Gosh-all-Hemlock  mine  ! 
And  Marthy's  younkit  wuz  their  first,  wich,  bein' 

how  it  meant 
The   first  on   Red    Hoss    Mountain,  wuz   truly  a 

event  ! 
The  miners  sawed  off  short  on  work  ez  soon  ez 

they  got  word 
That  Dock  Devine   allowed  to  Casey  what  had 

just  occurred ; 
We  loaded  up  an'  whooped  around  until  we  all 

wuz  hoarse 
Salutin'  the  arrival,  wich  weighed  ten  pounds,  uv 

course  ! 

Three  years,  and  sech  a  pretty  child ! — his  mother's 

counterpart ! 
Three  years,  and  sech  a  holt  ez  he  had  got  on  every 

heart !  — 


MARTHY'S   YOUNKIT.  175 

A  peert  an'  likely  little  tyke  with  hair  ez  red  ez 

gold, 
A  laughin',  toddlin'  everywhere,  —  'nd  only  three 

years  old  ! 
Up  yonder,  sometimes,  to  the  store,  an'  sometimes 

down  the  hill 
He  kited  (boys  is  boys,  you  know,  —  you  could  n't 

keep  him  still !) 
An'  there  he  'd  play  beside  the  brook  where  purpul 

wild-flowers  grew, 
An'  the  mountain  pines  an'  hemlocks  a  kindly  shad- 

der  threw, 
An'  sung  soft,  sollum  toons  to  him,  while  in  the 

gulch  below 
The  magpies,  like  strange  sperrits,  went  flutterin' 

to  an'  fro. 

Three  years,  an'  then  the  fever  come,  —  it  wuz  n't 

right,  you  know, 
With  all  us  old  ones  in  the  camp,  for  that  little 

child  to  go ; 
It 's  right  the  old  should  die,  but  that  a  harmless 

little  child 
Should  miss  the  joy  uv  life  an'  love,  —  that  can't 

be  reconciled! 


176  MARTHY^S   YOU N KIT. 

That 's  what  we  thought  that  summer  day,  an'  that 

is  what  we  said 
Ez  we  looked  upon  the  piteous  face  uv  Marthy's 

younkit  dead. 
But  for  his  mother's  sobbin',  the  house  wuz  very 

still, 
An'  Sorry  Tom  wuz  lookin',  through  the  winder, 

down  the  hill, 
To  the  patch  beneath  the  hemlocks  where  his  dar- 

lin'  used  to  play, 
An'   the   mountain  brook   sung  lonesomelike   an' 

loitered  on  its  way. 

A  preacher  come  from  Roarin'  Crick  to  comfort 

'em  an'  pray, 
'Nd  all  the  camp  wuz  present  at  the  obsequies 

next  day; 
A  female  teacher  staged  it  twenty  miles  to  sing  a 

hymn, 
An'  we  jined  her  in  the  chorus,  —  big,  husky  men 

an'  grim 
Sung  "Jesus,  Lover   uv  my  Soul,"  an'  then   the 

preacher  prayed, 
An'  preacht  a  sermon  on  the  death  uv  that  fair 

blossom  laid 


MARTHY'S   YOU N KIT.  177 

Among  them  other  flowers  he  loved,  —  wich  ser 
mon  set  sech  weight 

On  sinners  bein'  always  heeled  against  the  future 
state, 

That,  though  it  had  been  fashionable  to  swear  a 
perfec'  streak, 

There  warnt  no  swearin'  in  the  camp  for  pretty 
nigh  a  week  ! 

Last  thing  uv  all,  four  strappin'  men  took  up  the 

little  load 
An'    bore    it    tenderly    along   the    windin',    rocky 

road, 
To  where  the  coroner  had  dug  a  grave  beside  the 

brook, 
In  sight  uv  Marthy's  winder,  where  the  same  could 

set  an'  look 
An'  wonder  if  his  cradle  in  that  green  patch,  long 

an'  wide, 
Wuz  ez  soothin'  ez  the  cradle  that  wuz  empty  at 

her  side ; 
An'  wonder  if  the  mournful  songs  the  pines  wuz 

singin'  then 
Wuz  ez  tender  ez  the  lullabies  she'd  never  sing 

again, 

12 


178  MARTHVS   YOU N KIT. 

'Nd  if  the  bosom  uv  the  earth  in  wich  he  lay  at 

rest 
Wuz  half  ez  lovin'  'nd  ez  warm  ez  wuz  his  mother's 

breast. 

The  camp  is  gone ;  but  Red  Hoss  Mountain  rears 
its  kindly  head, 

An'  looks  down,  sort  uv  tenderly,  upon  its  cher 
ished  dead  ; 

'Nd  I  reckon  that,  through  all  the  years,  that  little 
boy  wich  died 

Sleeps  sweetly  an'  contentedly  upon  the  mountain 
side  ; 

That  the  wild-flowers  uv  the  summer-time  bend 
down  their  heads  to  hear 

The  footfall  uv  a  little  friend  they  know  not  slum 
bers  near; 

That  the  magpies  on  the  sollum  rocks  strange 
flutterin'  shadders  make, 

An'  the  pines  an'  hemlocks  wonder  that  the  sleeper 
does  n't  wake  ; 

That  the  mountain  brook  sings  lonesomelike  an' 
loiters  on  its  way 

Ez  if  it  waited  for  a  child  to  jine  it  in  its  play. 


IN  FLANDERS.  179 


IN    FLANDERS. 

'"PH ROUGH  sleet  and  fogs  to  the  saline  bogs 

Where  the  herring  fish  meanders, 
An  army  sped,  and  then,  't  is  said, 

Swore  terribly  in  Flanders : 

<( i »» 

A  hideous  store  of  oaths  they  swore, 
Did  the  army  over  in  Flanders! 

At  this  distant  day  we  're  unable  to  say 

What  so  aroused  their  danders  ; 
But  it 's  doubtless  the  case,  to  their  lasting  disgrace, 

That  the  army  swore  in  Flanders : 


And  many  more  such  oaths  they  swore, 
Did  that  impious  horde  in  Flanders  ! 


l8o  IN  FLANDERS. 

Some  folks  contend  that  these  oaths  without  end 

Began  among  the  commanders, 
That,  taking  this  cue,  the  subordinates,  too, 

Swore  terribly  in  Flanders : 

'T   W2«    "  I  " 

I      VYdo       "  """*  • 

il J  >» 

Why,  the  air  was  blue  with  the  hullaballoo 
Of  those  wicked  men  in  Flanders  ! 

But  some  suppose  that  the  trouble  arose 

With  a  certain  Corporal  Sanders, 
Who  sought  to  abuse  the  wooden  shoes 

That  the  natives  wore  in  Flanders. 

Saying  :  " ! " 

u I  " 

What  marvel  then,  that  the  other  men 
Felt  encouraged  to  swear  in  Flanders  ! 

At  any  rate,  as  I  grieve  to  state, 

Since  these  soldiers  vented  their  danders 

Conjectures  obtain  that  for  language  profane 
There  is  no  such  place  as  Flanders. 


This  is  the  kind  of  talk  you  '11  find 
If  ever  you  go  to  Flanders. 


IN  FLANDERS. 


How  wretched  is  he,  wherever  he  be, 

That  unto  this  habit  panders  ! 
And  how  glad  am  I  that  my  interests  lie 

In  Chicago,  and  not  in  Flanders  ! 

it i  ij 

u 1  » 

Would  never  go  down  in  this  circumspect  town 
However  it  might  in  Flanders. 


1 82  OUR  BIGGEST  FISH. 


OUR  BIGGEST   FISH. 

TT7HEN  in  the  halcyon  days  of  eld,  I  was  a 

*  ^       little  tyke, 
I  used  to  fish  in  pickerel  ponds  for  minnows  and 

the  like ; 
And  oh,  the  bitter  sadness  with  which   my  soul 

was  fraught 
When  I  rambled  home  at  nightfall  with  the  puny 

string  I  'd  caught! 

And,  oh,  the  indignation  and  the  valor  I  'd  display 
When  I  claimed  that  all  the  biggest  fish  I  'd  caught 

had  got  away  ! 

Sometimes  it  was  the  rusty  hooks,  sometimes  the 

fragile  lines, 
And  many  times  the  treacherous  reeds  would  foil 

my  just  designs ; 
But  whether  hooks  or  lines  or  reeds  were  actually 

to  blame 
I  kept  right  on  at  losing  all  the  monsters  just  the 

same  — 


O UR  BIGGES  T  FISH.  183 

I  never  lost  a  little  fish  —  yes,  I  am  free  to  say 
It  always  was  the  biggest  fish  I  caught  that  got 
away. 

And  so   it  was,   when   later  on,   I   felt    ambition 

pass 
From  callow  minnow  joys  to  nobler  greed  for  pike 

and  bass ; 
I   found   it  quite   convenient,   when   the   beauties 

would  n't  bite 
And  I  returned  all  bootless  from  the  watery  chase 

at  night, 
To  feign  a  cheery  aspect  and  recount  in  accents 

gay 

How  the  biggest  fish  that  I  had  caught  had  some 
how  got  away. 

And  really,  fish  look  bigger  than  they  are  before 
they  're  caught  — 

When  the  pole  is  bent  into  a  bow  and  the  slender 
line  is  taut, 

When  a  fellow  feels  his  heart  rise  up  like  a  dough 
nut  in  his  throat 

And  he  lunges  in  a  frenzy  up  and  down  the  leaky 
boat! 


184  OUR  BIGGEST  FISH. 

Oh,  you  who  've   been   a-fishing  will   indorse  me 

when  I  say 
That  it  always  is  the  biggest  fish  you  catch  that 

gets  away ! 

'Tis  even  so  in  other  things — yes,  in  our  greedy 

eyes 
The  biggest  boon  is  some  elusive,  never-captured 

prize  ; 
We  angle  for  the  honors  and  the  sweets  of  human 

life- 
Like  fishermen  we  brave  the  seas  that  roll  in  end 
less  strife; 
And  then  at  last,  when  all  is  done  and  we  are  spent 

and  gray, 

We  own  the  biggest  fish  we've  caught  are  those 
that  got  away. 

I   would  not  have   it  otherwise;  'tis  better  there 

should  be 
Much  bigger  fish  than  I  have  caught  a-swimming 

in  the  sea  ; 
For  now  some  worthier  one  than  I  may  angle  for 

that  game  — 


OUR  BIGGEST  FISH.  185 

May  by  his  arts  entice,  entrap,  and  comprehend 

the  same ; 
Which,  having  done,  perchance  he'll  bless  the  man 

who  's  proud  to  say 
That  the  biggest  fish  he  ever  caught  were  those 

that  got  away. 


1 8  6  THIR  TV-NINE. 


THIRTY-NINE. 

HAPLESS  day!  O  wretched  day! 
I  hoped  you  'd  pass  me  by  — 
Alas,  the  years  have  sneaked  away 

And  all  is  changed  but  I ! 
Had  I  the  power,  I  would  remand 

You  to  a  gloom  condign, 
But  here  you  Ve  crept  upon  me  and 
I  —  I  am  thirty-nine  ! 

Now,  were  I  thirty-five,  I  could 

Assume  a  flippant  guise  ; 
Or,  were  I  forty  years,  I  should 

Undoubtedly  look  wise ; 
For  forty  years  are  said  to  bring 

Sedateness  superfine  ; 
But  thirty-nine  don't  mean  a  thing  — 

A  has  with  thirty-nine  ! 


THIRTY-NINE.  187 


You  healthy,  hulking  girls  and  boys,  — 

What  makes  you  grow  so  fast  ? 
Oh,  I  '11  survive  your  lusty  noise  — 

I  'm  tough  and  bound  to  last ! 
No,  no —  I  'm  old  and  withered  too  — 

I  feel  my  powers  decline, 
(Yet  none  believes  this  can  be  true 

Of  one  at  thirty-nine). 

And  you,  dear  girl  with  velvet  eyes, 

I  wonder  what  you  mean 
Through  all  our  keen  anxieties 

By  keeping  sweet  sixteen. 
With  your  dear  love  to  warm  my  heart, 

Wretch  were  I  to  repine ; 
I  was  but  jesting  at  the  start  — 

I  'm  glad  I  'm  thirty-nine  ! 

So,  little  children,  roar  and  race 

As  blithely  as  you  can, 
And,  sweetheart,  let  your  tender  grace 

Exalt  the  Day  and  Man ; 
For  then  these  factors  (I  '11  engage) 

All  subtly  shall  combine 
To  make  both  juvenile  and  sage 

The  one  who 's  thirty-nine  ! 


1 88  THIRTY-NINE. 


Yes,  after  all,  I  'm  free  to  say 

I  would  much  rather  be 
Standing  as  I  do  stand  to-day, 

'Twixt  devil  and  deep  sea  ; 
For  though  my  face  be  dark  with  care 

Or  with  a  grimace  shine, 
Each  haply  falls  unto  my  share, 

For  I  am  thirty-nine  ! 

'T  is  passing  meet  to  make  good  cheer 

And  lord  it  like  a  king, 
Since  only  once  we  catch  the  year 

That  does  n't  mean  a  thing. 
O  happy  day  !  O  gracious  day  ! 

I  pledge  thee  in  this  wine  — 
Come,  let  us  journey  on  our  way 

A  year,  good  Thirty-Nine  ! 

Sept.  2,  1889. 


YVYTOT.  189 


YVYTOT. 

J^f/HERE  wail  the  waters  in  their  flow 

A  spectre  wanders  to  and  fro, 
And  evermore  that  ghostly  shore 
Bemoans  the  heir  of  Yvytot. 

Sometimes,  when,  like  a  fleecy  pall, 
The  mists  upon  the  waters  fall, 

Across  the  main  float  shadows  twain 
That  do  not  heed  the  spectre's  call. 

The  king  his  son  of  Yvytot 
Stood  once  and  saw  the  waters  go 

Boiling  around  with  hissing  sound 
The  sullen  phantom  rocks  below. 

And  suddenly  he  saw  a  face 

Lift  from  that  black  and  seething  place  — 

Lift  up  and  gaze  in  mute  amaze 
And  tenderly  a  little  space, 


190  YVYTOT. 


A  mighty  cry  of  love  made  he  — 
No  answering  word  to  him  gave  she, 

But  looked,  and  then  sunk  back  again 
Into  the  dark  and  depthless  sea. 

And  ever  afterward  that  face, 
That  he  beheld  such  little  space, 

Like  wraith  would  rise  within  his  eyes 
And  in  his  heart  find  biding  place. 

So  oft  from  castle  hall  he  crept 

Where  mid  the  rocks  grim  shadows  slept, 

And  where  the  mist  reached  down  and  kissed 
The  waters  as  they  wailed  and  wept. 

The  king  it  was  of  Yvytot 
That  vaunted,  many  years  ago, 

There  was  no  coast  his  valiant  host 
Had  not  subdued  with  spear  and  bow. 

For  once  to  him  the  sea-king  cried : 
"  In  safety  all  thy  ships  shall  ride 

An  thou  but  swear  thy  princely  heir 
Shall  take  my  daughter  to  his  bride. 


YVYTOT. 


"And  lo,  these  winds  that  rove  the  sea 
Unto  our  pact  shall  witness  be, 

And  of  the  oath  which  binds  us  both 
Shall  be  the  judge  'twixt  me  and  thee! " 

Then  swore  the  king  of  Yvytot 
Unto  the  sea-king  years  ago, 

And  with  great  cheer  for  many  a  year 
His  ships  went  harrying  to  and  fro. 

Unto  this  mighty  king  his  throne 
Was  born  a  prince,  and  one  alone  — 

Fairer  than  he  in  form  and  blee 
And  knightly  grace  was  never  known. 

But  once  he  saw  a  maiden  face 
Lift  from  a  haunted  ocean  place  — 
Lift  up  and  gaze  in  mute  amaze 
And  tenderly  a  little  space. 

Wroth  was  the  king  of  Yvytot, 
For  that  his  son  would  never  go 

Sailing  the  sea,  but  liefer  be 
Where  wailed  the  waters  in  their  flow, 


192  YVYTOT 


Where  winds  in  clamorous  anger  swept, 
Where  to  and  fro  grim  shadows  crept, 

And  where  the  mist  reached  down  and  kissed 
The  waters  as  they  wailed  and  wept. 

So  sped  the  years,  till  came  a  day 
The  haughty  king  was  old  and  gray, 
And  in  his  hold  were  spoils  untold 
That  he  had  wrenched  from  Norroway. 

Then  once  again  the  sea-king  cried  : 
"  Thy  ships  have  harried  far  and  wide ; 

My  part  is  done  —  now  let  thy  son 
Require  my  daughter  to  his  bride  !  " 

Loud  laughed  the  king  of  Yvytot, 
And  by  his  soul  he  bade  him  no  — 
"  I  heed  no  more  what  oath  I  swore, 
For  I  was  mad  to  bargain  so  !  " 

Then  spake  the  sea-king  in  his  wrath : 
"  Thy  ships  lie  broken  in  my  path  ! 

Go  now  and  wring  thy  hands,  false  king! 
Nor  ship  nor  heir  thy  kingdom  hath  ! 


YVYTOT. 


"  And  thou  shalt  wander  evermore 
All  up  and  down  this  ghostly  shore, 

And  call  in  vain  upon  the  twain 
That  keep  what  oath  a  dastard  swore  1" 

The  king  his  son  of  Yvytot 
Stood  even  then  where  to  and  fro 

The  breakers  swelled  —  and  there  beheld 
A  maiden  face  lift  from  below 

"  Be  thou  or  truth  or  dream,"  he  cried, 
"  Or  spirit  of  the  restless  tide, 

It  booteth  not  to  me,  God  wot ! 
But  I  would  have  thee  to  my  bride." 

Then  spake  the  maiden:  "  Come  with  me 
Unto  a  palace  in  the  sea, 

For  there  my  sire  in  kingly  ire 
Requires  thy  king  his  oath  of  thee  ! " 

Gayly  he  fared  him  down  the  sands 

And  took  the  maiden's  outstretched  hands ; 

And  so  went  they  upon  their  way 
To  do  the  sea-king  his  commands. 


194  YVYTOT. 


The  winds  went  riding  to  and  fro 

And  scourged  the  waves  that  crouched  below, 

And  bade  them  sing  to  a  childless  king 
The  bridal  song  of  Yvytot. 

So  fell  the  curse  upon  that  shore, 
And  hopeless  wailing  evermore 

Was  the  righteous  dole  of  the  craven  soul 
That  heeded  not  what  oath  he  swore. 

An  hundred  ships  went  down  that  day 
All  off  the  coast  of  Norroway, 

And  the  ruthless  sea  made  mighty  glee 
Over  the  spoil  that  drifting  lay. 

The  winds  went  calling  far  and  wide 
To  the  dead  that  tossed  in  the  mocking  tide  : 
"  Come  forth,  ye  slaves  !  from  your  fleeting  graves 
And  drink  a  health  to  your  prince  his  bride  !  " 

Where  wail  the  waters  in  their  flow 
A  spectre  wanders  to  and  fro, 

But  nevermore  that  ghostly  shore 
Shall  claim  the  heir  of  Yvytot. 


YVYTOT.  195 


Sometimes,  when,  like  a  fleecy  pall, 
The  mists  upon  the  waters  fall, 

Across  the  main  flit  shadows  twain 
That  do  not  heed  the  spectre's  call. 


196  LONG  AGO. 


LONG   AGO. 


J  ONCE  knew  all  the  birds  that  came 

And  nested  in  our  orchard  trees ; 
For  every  flower  I  had  a  name  — 

My  friends  were  woodchucks,  toads,  and  bees ; 
I  knew  where  thrived  in  yonder  glen 

What  plants  would  soothe  a  stone-bruised  toe  — 
Oh,  I  was  very  learned  then ; 

But  that  was  very  long  ago  ! 


I  knew  the  spot  upon  the  hill 

Where  checkerberries  could  be  found, 
I  knew  the  rushes  near  the  mill 

Where  pickerel  lay  that  weighed  a  pound  ! 
I  knew  the  wood,  —  the  very  tree 

Where  lived  the  poaching,  saucy  crow, 
And  all  the  woods  and  crows  knew  me  — 

But  that  was  very  long  ago. 


LONG   AGO.  197 


And  pining  for  the  joys  of  youth, 

I  tread  the  old  familiar  spot 
Only  to  learn  this  solemn  truth : 

I  have  forgotten,  am  forgot. 
Yet  here 's  this  youngster  at  my  knee 

Knows  all  the  things  I  used  to  know; 
To  think  I  once  was  wise  as  he  — 

But  that  was  very  long  ago. 

I  know  it 's  folly  to  complain 

Of  whatsoe'er  the  Fates  decree  ; 
Yet  were  not  wishes  all  in  vain, 

I  tell  you  what  my  wish  should  be : 
I  'd  wish  to  be  a  boy  again, 

Back  with  the  friends  I  used  to  know ; 
For  I  was,  oh  !  so  happy  then  — 

But  that  was  very  long  ago ! 


198  TO  A   SGUBRETTE. 


TO   A   SOUBRETTE. 

"T*  IS  years,  soubrette,  since  last  we  met; 

And  yet  —  ah,  yet,  how  swift  and  tender 
My  thoughts  go  back  in  time's  dull  track 

To  you,  sweet  pink  of  female  gender  ! 
I  shall  not  say  —  though  others  may  — 

That  time  all  human  joy  enhances  ; 
But  the  same  old  thrill  comes  to  me  still 

With  memories  of  your  songs  and  dances. 


Soubrettish  ways  these  latter  days 

Invite  my  praise,  but  never  get  it ; 
I  still  am  true  to  yours  and  you  — 

My  record 's  made,  I  '11  not  upset  it ! 
The  pranks  they  play,  the  things  they  say  — 

I  'd  blush  to  put  the  like  on  paper, 
And  I  '11  avow  they  don't  know  how 

To  dance,  so  awkwardly  they  caper  ! 


TO  A    SOUBRETTE  1 99 

I  used  to  sit  down  in  the  pit 

And  see  you  flit  like  elf  or  fairy 
Across  the  stage,  and  I  '11  engage 

No  moonbeam  sprite  were  half  so  airy  ; 
Lo,  everywhere  about  me  there 

Were  rivals  reeking  with  pomatum, 
And  if,  perchance,  they  caught  your  glance 

In  song  or  dance,  how  did  I  hate  'em  ! 

At  half-past  ten  came  rapture  —  then 

Of  all  those  men  was  I  most  happy, 
For  bottled  beer  and  royal  cheer 

And  tete-k-tetes  were  on  the  tapis. 
Do  you  forget,  my  fair  soubrette, 

Those  suppers  at  the  Cafe*  Rector, — 
The  cosey  nook  where  we  partook 

Of  sweeter  cheer  than  fabled  nectar  ? 

Oh,  happy  days,  when  youth's  wild  ways 

Knew  every  phase  of  harmless  folly  ! 
Oh,  blissful  nights,  whose  fierce  delights 

Defied  gaunt-featured  Melancholy ! 
Gone  are  they  all  beyond  recall, 

And  I  —  a  shade,  a  mere  reflection  — 
Am  forced  to  feed  my  spirits'  greed 

Upon  the  husks  of  retrospection  ! 


2OO  TO  A    SOUBRETTE. 

And  lo  !  to-night,  the  phantom  light, 

That,  as  a  sprite,  flits  on  the  fender, 
Reveals  a  face  whose  girlish  grace 

Brings  back  the  feeling,  warm  and  tender  ; 
And,  all  the  while,  the  old-time  smile 

Plays  on  my  visage,  grim  and  wrinkled,— 
As  though,  soubrette,  your  footfalls  yet 

Upon  my  rusty  heart-strings  tinkled ! 


HOME    TIME  2O I 


SOME     TIME. 


T  AST  night,  my  darling,  as  you  slept, 

I  thought  I  heard  you  sigh, 
And  to  your  little  crib  I  crept, 

And  watched  a  space  thereby  ; 
And  then  I  stooped  and  kissed  your  brow, 

For  oh  !  I  love  you  so  — 
You  are  too  young  to  know  it  now, 

But  some  time  you  shall  know  ! 


Some  time  when,  in  a  darkened  place 

Where  others  come  to  weep, 
Your  eyes  shall  look  upon  a  face 

Calm  in  eternal  sleep, 
The  voiceles-3  lips,  the  wrinkled  brow, 

The  patient  smile  shall  show  — 
You  are  too  young  to  know  it  now, 

But  some  time  you  may  know ! 


202  SOME    TIME. 


Look  backward,  then,  into  the  years, 

And  see  me  here  to-night  — 
See,  O  my  darling  !  how  my  tears 

Are  falling  as  I  write ; 
And  feel  once  more  upon  your  brow 

The  kiss  of  long  ago  — 
You  are  too  young  to  know  it  now, 

But  some  time  you  shall  know. 


THE  END. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  5O  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


JAN  21  1941 


r 


MM  2-7  U,1 

CAAAVO«J^ 

JUl  30  1941 

NOV  la**5*  . 

:  ;:•  10Sep'56VLv 

^ 

DEC    §     ,T<M, 

~ 

AUb  :•  /  1994 

f-ti!  iy  1946 

MAY  13   1946 

A  1  If*      A    O     t  A/%/> 

AUG  0  2  2000 

20Apr'49\yj| 

B 

LD  21-100m-7,'40  (6936s) 

Y 


u.  c. 


M20501 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


